The Dream of Freedom
by caisha702
Summary: Gloss once said Snow can only take our minds if we let him. Then the rebellion plot failed and I began to give up. But giving up means he's won and I promised I'd never let that happen. So I dream a dream of freedom and tell myself to never let go.
1. Chapter 1

**The first thing I'm going to say is that if you've accidentally ended up on here, please note that this is the third and final part of an ongoing story - it involves lots of OCs and probably won't make much sense if you don't go back and read the other two first ;) **

**Now I've said that I can move on to thanking everyone who has found their way here from reading 'Beauty' and 'Illusion'. As you all wanted the sequel (I'm flattered. Really.), this is the first chapter. I thought I'd post this as a kind of introduction because I'd already written it but it might be a couple of weeks before you get the second one...**

**And also there's something I've been meaning to ask for a while: I know a lot of you who are reading this write your own stories so... Do you find your stories end up with a 'soundtrack' in a similar way to films? Maybe it's just because I usually write with music on but virtually everything I write ends up with at least part of a soundtrack. I'm curious to know if that's just me being my usual weird self or if others are the same... ;) **

**Finally, as I'm starting a new story, I should probably say that if you recognise it as belonging to Suzanne Collins then it isn't mine - she created the world, I just like to play in it ;) **

Chapter One

Today is the hottest day of the summer so far and the sun beats relentlessly down onto my head as I walk along the path through the park. All I can hear is the sound of my own footsteps and the mockingjays singing in the trees above me. And that means that for once in my life there are no obvious cameras, no reporters firing questions at me, and above all, no Capitol people expecting a smile from one of their most famous Victors. I should be happy, I know that, but how can I be when I know where I'll be going tomorrow?

I've been to the Capitol far too many times since I won the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games eight years ago, but it's been seven years since I last set foot in the Control Room, seven years since I fought for Gloss' life even as I watched him nearly lose it in the arena. I don't want to go back to that place, to the world of tributes, mentor politics and sponsors who usually want a lot more in return for their money than a few words of gratitude.

I don't want to go back but I have no choice. This year the Capitol wants to watch as the only brother and sister ever to both become Victors fight for their tributes from the Control Room. Or that's how the gossip columns are wording it anyway. In reality I think we're just there because they don't want a repeat of last year, which saw what was probably the dullest Hunger Games in history that was made all the more unpopular when it was eventually won by a decidedly unattractive boy from District Eight who hasn't said a word since the hovercraft lifted him from the arena.

The reality is that Gloss and I are going to the Capitol as mentors this year because we're young, beautiful and famous. Apart from District Twelve, where there is only ever a choice between Haymitch Abernathy and Haymitch Abernathy, every district is represented by its most famous Victors and I'm sure that isn't a coincidence. Dull arenas and unattractive Victors don't go down well with the watching audience, so I'm sure the Gamemakers won't be allowed to let last year happen again.

After a while I reach the end of the path and look across at the school in front of me without really seeing it. However just as I'm about to turn away, the sight of a very familiar figure catches my attention and keeps it. I step forwards, moving to stand behind one of the surrounding tall trees so I can watch without being seen.

Satin makes her way purposefully across the front of the school building, her expression as focussed and determined as ever. She's exchanged her usual suit for a light summer dress because of the hot weather, her chronically unruly hair falling loose over her shoulders despite how she's obviously tried to pin it up. Some of the dark curls stick to her neck however hard she tries to brush them away. What is she doing here? Why isn't she at the workshop?

As soon as my sister gets within sight of the main doors, a middle-aged woman appears and greets her in the usual subservient manner which most people seem to adopt when in the presence of the wealthiest and most successful non-Capitolian woman in the district. Just like they used to with my father when he was at the height of his power, I think, wondering if people truly realise how different from Father she really is. Probably not. They're unlikely to when she's outwardly every bit as ruthless and demanding as he ever was.

The two women talk for a short time and I can see Satin's expression getting blacker by the second, before eventually the woman I assume is one of the teachers beckons to someone I can't see. A young girl races down the stairs instantly, stopping when she reaches the bottom and not daring to look away from her immaculately polished Capitol-made shoes.

Much to my surprise, my sister fell pregnant shortly after she married Miracle and then gave birth to a daughter she called Victory about five months after the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games. I smile at the sight of my niece, who has nothing of her father in her and is the spitting image of how Satin was at her age, wondering what trouble she's got herself into this time.

I continue to watch amusedly as Satin and the teacher exchange a few more words before my sister leads her daughter away. When they're only a short distance away from me, she drags the girl to a halt and crouches down in front of her, fixing her with the glare I know has terrified many a rival in the past. My niece proves which family she belongs to by staring right back at her mother, appearing curious rather than afraid.

"I meant what I said," says Satin, speaking just loudly enough for me to pick up her words. "I don't ever want you to get caught again."

"I'm sorry," replies Victory, her higher-pitched voice a lot easier to hear.

"Think of your mother's reputation, dearest. Be more careful."

The girl nods and Satin reaches out to ruffle her thick, dark hair, laughing to herself as she stands up and starts walking back to the gate. I move away from my hiding place to wait in the middle of the path in front of them, suddenly forgetting the prospect of tomorrow in favour of finding out what that was all about.

Seconds later I stumble backwards slightly as two thin arms wrap around my waist, hugging me tightly. I'm not sure what to make of this but I quickly recover and look around to see all of the other children staring open-mouthed. Then I realise this isn't only a way for my niece to show me affection but also a means of improving her status by showing her closeness to her famous aunt. Five years old and she already plots and schemes like her mother.

"That's enough, Victory," snaps Satin. "At least try to act like you were properly raised instead of dragged up when people can see you."

Victory promptly releases me and looks guiltily up at her mother. "Sorry," she replies, her eyes on her feet again even though she stands with her back perfectly straight. "Sorry, Aunt Cashmere."

I smile down at her but don't say anything, mostly because I really have no idea what to say. Gloss is wonderful with her, teasing her and swinging her around and around in his arms as she laughs endlessly, but I'm not good with children. I never was. I'm more grateful than I probably should be when she gets distracted like she always does and tears off across the park, chasing an unfortunate butterfly that made the mistake of flying past her.

"What are you doing here, Satin? Why aren't you at work?" I ask, turning my attention to my sister as we walk back along the path towards both of our houses. "Have you really entrusted everything to Miracle? I find that hard to believe considering how I didn't think he could even breathe without you providing him with instructions."

"I'm sure he'll manage for a few hours," she replies dryly, refusing to react to my teasing. "Madam's teacher wanted to talk to me about something that happened with another girl yesterday."

"Something?"

"She saw Victory pull her hair and push her to the ground."

"And your response was to tell her not to get caught next time?" I ask incredulously, not knowing much about parenting but understanding how that probably isn't the best attitude to have.

"I asked the teacher to tell me who else was involved and the girl she pointed at was Glory Woodville's daughter. Who am I to stop the next generation from carrying on the good work? As I told her, she could be a bit more subtle about it though."

"Satin!" I exclaim, but she stubbornly refuses to say another word on the subject, switching it to one that makes me feel a lot more uncomfortable.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"You won't have to deal with it on your own for much longer though," she replies, her expression making the hidden meaning behind her words perfectly clear.

"I'm not on my own now. Gloss is waiting for me back at the house."

She raises her eyebrows at me. "I think we both know I didn't mean Gloss."

* * *

><p>When we reach the Victor's Village, Satin and I go our separate ways and I head towards my house. It looks as immaculate as ever, the fence neat and even, the hanging baskets overflowing with brightly coloured flowers that are most definitely Gloss's responsibility. If I try to care for them then they always die. He's better at things like that than I am, he always has been. Besides, I'd let him do it anyway. It seems to help him calm down when he comes back from the Capitol so I'd never stand in his way.<p>

Then I turn to the house next door that they gave to my brother after he won the Games. It looks untouched, and that's probably because it is. I should tell him about that, because I know the average Capitolian isn't a genius but it doesn't take one to work out there's nobody living there.

I make my way into the kitchen, intending to tell Gloss to at least get someone to cut the lawn, but the words fade away as soon as I see him. He sits alone by the open patio doors, staring unblinkingly into the garden in a way that tells me he isn't really seeing it at all.

"Gloss?" I whisper, continuing to edge slowly towards him. "Gloss, look at me."

I put my hands on his shoulders and he turns to face me, staring up into my eyes without speaking for several minutes.

"I don't think I can do it again, Cash," he whispers eventually. "I don't want to go through it again. I can't."

I sit down on the arm of his chair, not knowing why I bother when he puts his arm around me a second later, pulling me onto his lap.

"I don't want to go either, Gloss," I reply, knowing he means the Games. "The last time I was in the Control Room I was fighting for you."

"Even if we get one of them out, there'll still be one who dies," he says, carrying on almost like he didn't hear me. "Just like last time. I saved Marius but Silk still died and there was nothing I could do about it."

I say nothing, remembering the Sixty-eighth Games and the seventeen-year-old illegitimate son of a Peacekeeper who Gloss had made himself ill over as he fought endlessly for him from both the Control Room and other places in the Capitol I can't bear to think of. By the time Marius Shine had been crowned the Victor, Gloss was physically and mentally exhausted. Worse than that, I barely recognised the glazed look in his eyes.

Even though he refused to talk about it then and has done ever since, I know he did what Tiberius did for Megaera during the Sixty-seventh Games and sold himself in exchange for the money to buy his tribute what they needed to survive in the arena. And what made it worse was that when he wasn't doing that he was permanently watching his monitor in the Control Room. I went to the Capitol with him but I hardly saw him. It took me weeks and weeks to help him fully return to himself once we got back home and I'm determined it won't happen again.

"You couldn't save both of them, you know that. And we'll be in the Control Room together this time. I'll be watching you, Gloss de Montfort, so don't you forget it," I continue, keeping my voice light because I know he'll immediately understand what I'm really saying. He'll know I'm telling him in my own way that I won't let him do what he did before.

"I did what I had to do to keep him alive, Cash," he replies. "I wish I hadn't but I saw that interview you gave when I was in the arena. I heard what you said so I know you understand."

"That was different," I say firmly. "That was when it was you in the arena."

"Did you think I'd have wanted you to do that?"

"I didn't care what you wanted, Gloss. All I cared about was that you lived. I'd have done whatever it took to get you out of that arena."

"When I'm a mentor I'm responsible for my tribute, whoever they are. I can't sit back and do nothing while I watch them die. I _won't _sit back and do nothing."

"And you think I will?" I retort indignantly, trying to stand up.

"I didn't say that, Cash," he replies, tightening his grip and not letting me. "I was just trying to explain why I did what I did when I was in the Capitol with Marius."

"You're so stupid, little brother," I say, putting my arm across his chest and hugging him tightly. "I know why you did it, but I'm telling you I won't let you do it again. There must be some other way and we can work it out together."

He smiles at me and shakes his head. "Don't say that in the Capitol. You'll be giving them ideas we really don't want them to have."

I hit his arm sharply, rolling my eyes. "I'm being serious. Between the two of us we can bring one of them home. That's all we can expect and you know it."

"I know. But that doesn't mean I like it."

"We're not supposed to like it. I think that's the point."

* * *

><p>Gloss went out shortly after, saying he wanted to get some proper fresh air while he could, before it becomes a thing of the past and he once more has to get used to a combination of exhaust fumes and overpoweringly strong perfume. He said I should go with him but I stayed in the house. I'm still trying to tell myself it isn't because I'm hoping Falco will sneak away from wherever he's supposed to be so he can see me, but even as I do I know it's a lie. The certainty I have of seeing him is the only thing that makes the reaping bearable. Sometimes I think it's only because of Gloss and Falco that I remain sane.<p>

The television flickered into life about an hour ago, telling me the technicians in the Capitol are practicing for tomorrow, when they will broadcast the reapings for the Seventy-fourth Games to the whole nation. As usual, not watching isn't an option, they make sure of that.

I try to ignore it, turning to face the other way so I can't see the endless beauty programmes and films featuring live cosmetic surgery that run across the screen while they perform their final checks. I know I should just go to another room but I can't quite summon up the strength to make myself move. Then they start replaying the Games and I couldn't move even if I physically wanted to.

When the programme first changes I see the familiar grey metal corridors of my arena, and that's enough to make me curl up in a ball with my hands over my head even now. I haven't looked at the television since but that doesn't mean I can hide from the thoughts that fill my mind. I feel the walls start to close in on me and the room begins to spin. It might be nearly eight years ago that the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games ended but I can still be back there in a matter of a single second.

Then the door opens and Gloss walks in, running a hand casually through his dark-brown hair and making my panic slowly fade enough for me to be able to focus on something other than my nightmarish memories. He stands there smiling softly at me, and the only thing I can think of is how he's barely changed since the day he won his Games.

Sometimes I wish he'd age, that he'd start to lose his looks. If he did then the Capitolians wouldn't want him like they do. But then I realise he's only twenty-five. He's got years and years left to endure being bought and sold in the big city and there's nothing neither he nor I can do about it.

"Why aren't you sitting down?" I ask him suspiciously, knowing that he'd normally have collapsed onto the sofa beside me by now.

"Because I figured you wouldn't want to be sitting next to your brother when someone a whole lot more interesting just arrived," he says, shaking his head slowly at me and clearly struggling not to laugh.

I look behind him to see Falco standing in the doorway and I fight the urge to throw myself into his arms as he crosses the room towards me. I haven't seen him since I was last in the Capitol and that was at least two months ago, and though we've been forced to get used to being apart for long periods of time, it doesn't seem to get any easier.

"I've missed you," I whisper as he sits down beside me, pushing myself under his arm and hugging him tightly.

"I've missed you as well," he replies amusedly. "But I'm really not supposed to be here."

"I'm sure the mayor will understand. That's if he knows what you look like. Of course, I'm assuming you've actually met him…" I say, teasingly referring to how he always uses our district's mayor as an excuse to come to District One and then spends little to no time with the man as he's always with me.

"I think we'd just about recognise each other," he replies, smiling and then falling silent.

We sit there for ages, watching the sun set through the massive windows which are still thrown wide open despite how late it is. I sigh with relief when the television screen finally falls silent and after that neither of us speak. I love him as much as I did seven years ago, probably more, and sometimes I don't need to talk and simply want to enjoy having him close to me.

"Have you got to go?" I ask eventually, knowing that there's every chance he'll have to, especially because it's the reaping tomorrow.

He smiles and shakes his head. "Yes, but I'm not going to."

* * *

><p>I know I should sleep but I can't, so I lie awake with the dim bedside light on its lowest setting, watching the curtains blowing in the wind. It's still dark but I know it won't be long now. It won't be long before I have to get up, get dressed and go to the main square. It won't be long before I have to stand on that stage and smile prettily for the cameras while I wait for the children and youth of the district to run the race that decides which two of them win the right to risk their lives in the arena. Over six years have passed since Achillea Redsparrow died and her rebellion plot fell with her, and there hasn't been a day when I haven't thought of her. When I haven't thought about what could have been, what Panem could have been if only she hadn't been betrayed.<p>

Then I shiver at the thought of how I'll have to chaperone another pair of tributes as they prepare to enter the arena. I told Gloss we'd find a way to save one of them but what if we can't even do that? What if we fail and I have to accompany two wooden boxes back to District One in a few weeks time? And will it even be any better if one of them lives? How can it be when I'll still have to watch from the Control Room as twenty-three others die for the Capitol's entertainment?

Falco tightens his arms around me when I shuffle back against him and I know he's awake as well. He rarely talks about the Games but I know enough of his thoughts to know he despises them. I know he only remains District One's escort because it gives him an excuse to come here and see me.

"I saw Plutarch Heavensbee yesterday," he says, his voice barely audibly despite how he leans across to whisper into my ear.

"And?" I reply, every muscle in my body stiffening as I temporarily stop breathing.

"He told me he's heard about plans," he says obliquely, knowing I will understand his true meaning.

"No, Falco," I say sharply, pulling away from him so I can sit up and look into his eyes. "No."

As soon as I look at him I can tell he thinks the plan to rebel against President Snow and his government is being revived and that he wants to be a part of it again. I shake my head numbly, remembering how close he came to death when it all went wrong last time and not wanting it to happen again. I love him too much. I can't let him do it. It came to nothing before so why would it be any different now? Nothing has changed in six years to make the president weaker. If anything then his position has only strengthened. Achillea's death saw to that.

"Why not?" he whispers, his lips brushing my ear again. "Don't tell me you don't dream of freedom as much as I do because I won't believe you."

"But that's just it, Falco. It's a dream and nothing more. Nothing's changed. There's nothing to stop it from failing for a second time and I'm sure they'll have learned from what happened with Achillea. They'll be ready for it and they won't let it simply drop like they did before."

"I have to try, Butterfly. It's starting again and I'm going to be part of it."

"Isn't this enough for you anymore?" I reply, gesturing to us and this room. "Aren't I enough for you?"

I know I'm being selfish, that I'm being irrational and that the only thing I'm achieving by saying such things is causing him pain, but I can't help it. I can't help the way I feel and I don't want him to be part of something that puts his life so greatly at risk.

"Cashmere, you're everything. Can't you see that? I'm doing this for us. Because I spend a large proportion of my time arranging for my friends and business associates to buy your time from the president so someone doesn't do it for real. Because I can't do the same for your brother and you can see what that does to him. Because I'm going to have to stand on that stage tomorrow and raise the arms of the first two people to reach me in a gesture that's supposed to symbolise their victory when all I can think is that I'm sending them to their deaths. I have to fight because it's the only way anything's ever going to change."

I fall back onto the bed beside him, not resisting when he pulls me close again. What can I possibly say to that? How can I find words? There are no words and I can't stop him. He is who he is and he won't stand aside and do nothing. It was always going to happen sooner or later.

"Who else?"

"The old crowd," he replies. "'Rissa, Vespasian, The Gamemaker, some of the others you don't know about. Rebuilding a new plan's never really stopped, especially not after Achillea, you know that. I've never kept that from you."

"But I thought it was just…plans. Just words and nothing more."

"It will always be more than that, Butterfly. In the end it will always be more because it's always worth the risk we take. I don't know how far they've got in contacting people and setting up the old networks though. But I know that nobody has said they want to stay out of it. Phoebe said yes," he continues, knowing that will make me smile.

Phoebe is one of Falco's fellow government ministers who was also heavily involved with Achillea's plot and I've always liked her even though I've only met her a couple of times. Admittedly that's mostly because she seems to be one of the few people who gives Narissa as good as she gets, but I also like to think I'd like her anyway.

"And the Victors?"

He nods. "Perhaps. Some of them."

"More messages?"

"I won't let you. It's too dangerous."

"Hypocrite," I retort. "So it's fine for you to do it but not me? I don't think so. I told you before, we do this together. I have to stand on that stage as well."

He says nothing, kissing me instead, and though I know he's deliberately distracting me, I decide to let him. There will be plenty of time to have this debate, it doesn't have to be now.

* * *

><p>I've been up since dawn, since I said goodbye to Falco and he left through the kitchen door, heading back to wherever he was supposed to have spent the night. Now it's a little before half-past seven and I know I won't be able to put off getting ready for much longer. The reaping is early in District One as they have to get all twelve squeezed into such a short space of time, all at half-hourly intervals so the audience in the Capitol can watch them, of course. I think Reaping Day is one of the only occasions the majority of the big city's citizens get up before noon.<p>

"Are you going to get up on the stage in that robe, sister dearest?" asks Gloss in a sing-song voice as he strolls into the kitchen, looking as immaculate as ever in a simple white shirt and dark trousers.

"I don't know," I reply, holding my arms out and twirling around on the spot. "I might start a trend and then nobody in the Capitol would get properly dressed for a month."

"I think getting dressed and staying dressed would be the best thing for most of them, so in that case I insist you change," he says dryly, and I smile despite the less than amusing hidden meaning behind his words.

Compared to the empty and hollow expression I saw yesterday, this is a marked improvement. Even if I can't help thinking it will only be temporary, I'm so glad to see it that I instantly feel some of the weight lifted from my shoulders.

We both look around as the back door suddenly swings open, instantly alert. Eight years might have passed since I left the arena and seven since Gloss did, but some things never change. Then we simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief as Victory races into the kitchen, stops in front of my brother and holds her arms out for him to pick her up.

"I think you're a bit old for that now," he says, smiling that genuine smile I've seen far too rarely since he came back from the arena. "I might have to call you Frill instead of Victory if you're going to keep doing this."

The little girl laughs uncomprehendingly, jumping up and down on her tiptoes until Gloss finally gives in and scoops her up, spinning her around and around as she holds her arms outstretched like she's flying.

"When she's older I'll have to explain that one to her," I say, turning to Satin as she walks into the room a lot more sedately than her daughter did.

Miracle had wanted to call his daughter Frill. A good District One name, he'd said, his mother's name, but quite understandably, Satin wouldn't stand for it. Though Miracle likes to think he's the one in control, anyone who knows either of them even slightly knows my sister is the real boss. The little girl was very publicly named Victory soon after her birth and my sister ensured she invited all of the recently bankrupted Woodville family to the ceremony. The symbolism was lost on nobody.

"I don't think Miracle would be amused," she replies. "I don't think he's forgiven me yet."

"I'm sure he'll be able to live with it," I say, speaking of my brother-in-law with considerably less venom than might have been in my voice before. "Especially as he played such a big role in orchestrating the victory for which she was named."

I didn't always like Miracle, probably because my father wanted to marry me off to him against my will when he was still an obnoxiously immature young man, but Satin was right when she said he'd grown up. He promised Gloss that he wouldn't hurt my sister and so far he's kept his promise. Over the years he's risen in my estimations more than I would have thought possible even though I wouldn't dream of openly admitting it.

"Why aren't you dressed?" she asks, her dark eyes obviously taking in my blue silk robe and bare feet.

"Not you as well," I reply, rolling my eyes. "I'm going to get ready now. We don't have to be in the main square for another three quarters of an hour."

"Both Gloss and I know how long it takes you to decide what to wear," she retorts. "I don't think President Snow will delay the Hunger Games while you sort your wardrobe out."

"I know what I'm going to wear," I reply, trying to look offended and most likely not really succeeding.

I turn on my heel and leave the room, quickly going up to my bedroom and changing into my new dress. Falco brought it with him from the Capitol yesterday, and though it's Felix's latest creation, I suspect my stylist wasn't the only person involved in it's design. The deep purple fabric and silver embroidery echoes the dress I wore on the tribute train when Falco and I first met so much that I know he contributed considerably.

When I walk back into the kitchen Gloss and Satin stop talking and stare at me, making me roll my eyes where once I would have posed as if in front of a camera. I don't like people looking at me like I once did, even if it is my brother and sister. And anyway, it's not like they don't see me virtually every day.

"When did he leave? Before it got light?" says Satin, her voice ever so slightly disapproving.

"When did who leave?" I ask in return, pretending an ignorance I know she'll never fall for. "I've no idea what you mean."

"You didn't have that dress yesterday, Cashmere. And the smug smirk you've had on your face all morning tells me all I need to know."

I scowl at her and adjust my belt even though it isn't out of place before walking towards Gloss, hoping he won't torment me like Satin does. My little brother never lets me down.

"You look good, Cash," he says quietly, draping his arm across my shoulders and squeezing me gently. "Are you ready to face the mob?"

"No, but that won't change anything," I reply with a deep sigh. "Is it time to go already?"

"Unfortunately," he says before turning to look at Satin. "Are you coming with us?"

She nods, talk of the reaping making her look straight at Victory, who still stands in front of Gloss, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as she smiles up at her mother.

"Seven years before it really starts to matter," says Satin quietly. Then she strides out of the kitchen before I can even start to think of something to say in response.

* * *

><p>By the time we get to the main square there is barely room to move, but Gloss and I are quickly seized by the visiting officials and ushered towards the stage, the crowd miraculously parting to let us through. I get a brief glimpse of Satin before she disappears as the people of District One also move to allow her past. They look on in awe as she strolls along like a queen, and Victory follows her in a public display of obedience she wouldn't dream of adhering to when nobody could see.<p>

As we get closer to our final destination I stop looking at the reporters and camera crews as they struggle to ask their questions and take just one more picture. I stop looking at the television cameras perched on the top of the highest buildings overlooking the stage. I even stop looking at the mass of young people vying for position as they wait for the race to volunteer to begin. All I can see is Falco as he stands on the raised platform before me in his fine black suit. He's barely changed since this day eight years ago and that makes me remember how I felt back then. If only I'd known then what I know now.

He sees me instantly and his eyes follow me as Gloss links my arm with his and we take to stage. I look pointedly back at the crowd, silently telling him he should look away but he doesn't, not until I'm standing beside him and the three of us turn to face the mayor. As soon as we do the massive clock on the front of the Justice Building sounds half-past eight.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the reaping for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games!"

I take a deep breath and force myself to mentally count backwards from one hundred, trying to keep myself visibly calm when inside I'm screaming. Being here reminds me of both my own reaping and Gloss's. If I think about it then I can almost see my brother running towards me as he wins the race to volunteer so clearly that Falco couldn't have ignored him if he'd wanted to. That's why I can't let myself think. That's why I have to keep counting.

I manage to keep my composure throughout the entire time it takes the mayor to read the Treaty of Treason in his usual monotonous voice, but as soon as he announces Falco I feel myself sway slightly. Gloss steps to the side towards me and I lean into him, hoping that the cameras won't be watching and therefore won't notice how much I'm shaking.

Falco says a few token words about how pleased he is to be here, his voice calm and understated in a way that other district escorts never seem to manage. Then he steps towards the reaping balls and I close my eyes as the race begins.

They all surge forward like they do every year, and even when they almost reach the steps there doesn't seem to be a clear leader. A tall, dark-haired boy gets to us first, followed by two blonde girls. The darker of the two is in front but only by the very smallest of margins. Then Falco reaches forwards, his eyes reflecting a sadness I suspect only I can see, and raises the arms of the two new tributes in victory. Only it isn't the dark-blonde girl whose arm he raises but her nearest rival. Her hair is the same pale blonde as mine and as she turns around and I finally see her face, there is not pride but shock in her vivid green eyes.

"What's your name?" the mayor asks the girl, knowing the next and final stage of the Reaping Ceremony is to announce the district's new tributes to the crowd before sending them to the Town Hall for their allotted hour with their families.

"Glimmer," she says, quickly masking her obvious shock before it reaches her perfectly steady and even voice. "Glimmer Goldsmith."

Then the mayor turns away from her to the boy on Falco's other side and she stumbles slightly. Gloss reaches out to steady her and she smiles in return. She really is beautiful. Far too beautiful to be a Hunger Games tribute. My heart sinks when I realise that just like me when I became a tribute, no matter what happens in the arena, this girl has already lost.

* * *

><p><strong>I'd forgotten all about this until I saw that the voting had opened, but I'm mentioning it again now because I'd love it if you all went to the forum page and voted in the Pearl Awards. There are some truly amazing stories listed (and, very surprisingly to me, I've also been nominated a bit as well :P) so please, please go and read and then have your say. The more people who vote in these things, the more successful they are, so make sure your voice is heard! <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**_I'm back and I'm a bit more organised now ;) Thank you to those of you who reviewed the first chapter (Stacy, if you're reading then I'm really pleased you liked it and I hope you feel better :)). I'm sorry if I didn't manage to reply to all of you - something went wrong with this site about half an hour after I posted and I couldn't log on for days. Then I forgot who I'd replied to and who I hadn't. Anyway, enough of the excuses, if you review this time then I'll reply (website permitting!)..._**

Chapter Two

There are four other people with me on the tribute train as it speeds towards the Capitol but I might as well be alone as nobody has spoken a word for the past hour. The noise from the television fills the room, struggling to compete with the almost overwhelming tension that surrounds us. The reaping review programme is finally about to begin and for once I can't wait. I need something to force a break in the silence, something to distract everyone from their thoughts and bring them back to a present they seem to have left behind.

"Please excuse me," says Glimmer in her soft and even voice. "I have a terrible headache. I need to go and lie down."

"What about the reaping review?" I ask, wishing she wouldn't leave even though I have no idea what to say to her when she's here. She doesn't respond. "Will you not wait to see the opposition?" I add with a sly smile, deciding to try a different approach. I can tell I've failed even before she replies.

"I will see them in person soon enough," she says, her eyes fixed on the door like she can't bear to stay here for another second.

She looks at me briefly and then turns away. I follow the direction of her gaze to my brother and find myself staring at him as well. He looks steadily back at her with an open expression very few people get to see, but she narrows her eyes sharply at him before swiftly leaving the room. Falco sighs audibly and when I look at him he shakes his head sadly. He's been quiet since the reaping and I wish I could work out why.

The boy named Marvel stares unblinkingly at the television screen, a smug smile appearing on his face when he sees himself on the stage. He reminds me of my district partner, or at least of the boy I thought he was before we reached the arena. He and Sheen might be polar opposites in colouring but the arrogance is the same.

"How much longer?" he asks impatiently as he looks across at Gloss and I. "I want to be in the Capitol already."

"It will take as long as it takes," replies Falco sternly with a deliberately exaggerated Capitol accent, obviously as tired of the boy's insolence as I am.

Marvel pales slightly and doesn't speak again after that, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. I look across at Falco but he is entirely focussed on the television screen. His worried frown hasn't faded and it's a struggle to force myself to wait until we're alone before I say anything. I keep my attention fixed on him until Gloss abruptly gets up and walks towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"For a walk," he replies, shaking his head when I open my mouth to question him.

We're on a train. Where could he possibly be walking to? But perhaps he just wants some time to himself. I can't imagine he's dealing with the prospect of being a mentor for the second time any better than I am and watching the reaping review is never going to help. But that doesn't make sense. Gloss doesn't walk away from me unless he has a reason. He's going to see Glimmer, I know he is. It's the only explanation that makes sense. I get up to follow him.

"Leave it, Cashmere," says Falco before I can take a single step. I fall back down onto the chair more because of the shock of hearing him call me by my real name than for any other reason. I forgot I'd have to get used to that again. "Let him go."

I nod, silently telling him that this isn't over, and then turn back to the screen. For the next hour or so I watch as the other twenty-two tributes are revealed, soon realising that there's every chance the Gamemakers will get their wish this year. From the look of what I'm seeing on screen, this year's Games isn't going to be boring.

The man from District Two looks strangely familiar although I can't quite decide why. At first I think it's because he reminds me of Corvinus, whose face I've never forgotten, but when the camera zooms in on him and I find myself staring into bright blue eyes instead of dark brown, I know that's not the reason.

His district partner is the first shock of the reapings, for though she walks proudly to the stage with all the swagger of their very toughest tributes, she is no volunteer. Her name was drawn from the reaping ball as surely as that of the vast majority of those from the other districts who follow her. I know more about District Two than most who don't live there because of my friendship with Ursala, and what just happened makes no sense.

District Three look as sorry for themselves as ever and I smile sadly when I see Beetee and Wiress standing together on the stage with the same resigned looks on their faces that I remember from the last time I was in the Control Room. I'll be very surprised if either of their tributes make it past their first day in the arena.

I visibly shudder at the sight of Finnick Odair, seeing the boy who killed Sapphire in the man on the screen before me. He might be older but those sea-green eyes never change and he's so famous in the Capitol that there's no getting away from him, especially not on Reaping Day. Marvel stares at me with unconcealed curiosity until Falco pointedly clears his throat. Then he immediately returns his gaze to the screen without saying a word.

After the fishing district they all begin to blend into one. The girl from District Five stands out because she has the brightest red hair I've ever seen. It's the colour of a fox's pelt and blows in the wind as she walks slowly to the stage. All of the others are unremarkable and I forget them before I've really seen them. That is until the boy from District Ten hobbles onto the stage. I look away in disgust, not at the boy's obvious disability but at the Capitol that is remorselessly sending him to certain death as surely as if someone had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

The man from District Eleven is as tall and strong as almost any tribute from One, Two or Four, and I stop breathing as I watch him take to the stage. It happens sometimes but it's still a shock to see a grown man who dwarfs their Capitol escort rather than a shivering and terrified little boy. Falco told me they send the boys to work in the fields from an early age in the agricultural district and this man proves it's as effective as any formal training regime, for physical strength at least. He's a total contrast to their female tribute, who doesn't look even close to reaping age, and I quickly turn away because I can't bear to look at her.

Then I lean back in my chair, thinking about having another attempt at getting up and going to look for Gloss, but I temporarily change my mind when I hear the girl from District Twelve scream. She shouts one word as she races to the front of the crowd. Prim.

If the girl from District Two was unusual for not being a volunteer then this girl from Twelve is even more unusual for being one. In the entire seventy-four year history of the Hunger Games, never once has the coal district had a volunteer, and now a girl, this Katniss Everdeen, has volunteered to be sent to her death because it's the only way to save her sister's life. I watch as she waits for her district partner to be chosen, unable to prevent myself from admiring her because I know she feels for her sister what I feel for Gloss. I'd have gone into the arena for him if they'd let me but I couldn't. But this girl can save her sister and she has. For that reason alone I wish she didn't have to die.

* * *

><p>I quickly glance at my watch and realise it won't be long now. In about an hour we will arrive in the Capitol and the build up to the Games will really begin. I think of Glimmer and wonder how she'll cope at the Remake Centre, if the inevitable flapping of her prep team will succeed where I have failed and cause her ice-cold façade to crack. As I walk past the door to her room I consider trying again, but then I change my mind. Gloss went after her when she left the television room, I'm sure he did. Perhaps he'll prove to be better with her than I am.<p>

The door to the dining carriage is half open and I can just about squeeze through the gap without having to slide it across any more. I know Falco will be there. They use this train to transport people back and forth from District One to the Capitol when it isn't time for the Games so we've travelled on it often enough. I know where he chooses to lurk if something's wrong and he doesn't want company.

"You proved your point eight years ago, Butterfly," he says quietly from one of the armchairs by the window. He doesn't look at me when he speaks. "I already know you can creep up on me so you don't have to keep doing it."

"I didn't do a very good job if you knew I was here, did I?" I retort, still trying to work out why he's upset.

"I saw your reflection in the window," he replies, finally turning to face me.

"What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Why do you think something's wrong?"

I raise my eyebrows incredulously but say nothing, waiting to see if he'll continue. He doesn't.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, trying again as I walk over and sit on the adjacent chair.

"The reapings," he says. "Some of the tributes look like fighters this year."

"Have you heard who's mentoring District Two?" I ask, remembering the blue-eyed man and his stereotype-breaking district partner. There's something about that man. He still seems so familiar to me and I still wish I could work out why.

"Vikus Cortez and that boy who won a couple of years ago."

"Augustus," I reply, shuddering at the memory of the slow and painful death he gave my district's boy when they faced each other in the arena. "They're good then. Vikus wouldn't be bothering if they weren't."

Falco nods like I knew he would. In District One the Victors usually take turns to mentor, but things are very different in Two. Ursala explained it once, saying that whoever trains the tribute who wins what they call the Reaping Trials is the one who goes to the Capitol with them as their mentor. Vikus Cortez only bothers to train the very best so his presence tells me a lot about the quality of Two's tributes this year.

"Four didn't seem to stand out," he says, making me nod in agreement. "But it's still the luck of the draw with them."

"They'll get more attention than they could wish for if Odair's mentoring them," I snarl, closing my eyes and trying to get rid of the image I've never quite forgotten of Sapphire dying as Finnick Odair stands victoriously over her.

"That's not going to change any time soon."

"Falco, please. Tell me what's wrong."

"They'll have to watch District Eleven as well," he says, talking like he didn't hear me. "He's strong enough to fight with the Alliance if he wants to."

"Falco…"

He sighs and momentarily puts his head in his hands before looking back up at me. "She didn't get to the stage first. I saw it on the replay. She didn't get to the stage first."

I struggle to swallow because of the lump in my throat and wring my hands together awkwardly on my lap. I try to resist the urge to go to him because of where we are but I soon give up and perch awkwardly on the arm of his chair. This is all about the reaping. This is all about Glimmer not winning the race to the stage. He's seen the look in her eyes and he's guessed she didn't mean to win.

"It all happened so quickly," I say firmly, determined not to let him blame himself. "There was barely any distance between them."

"You knew," he replies. "I saw the look in your eyes when I raised Glimmer's arm to the crowd. You knew."

"I could see better than you could. It was you they were running to."

"I didn't even see the other girl, Cashmere," he says sadly, reaching up and cupping my face with his hand before letting go and running his fingers through my hair. "It's the same. That's why I saw her first. That's why I thought she'd won."

"What's the same?" I whisper, already suspecting I know where he's going with this because of the way his eyes haven't left the lock of my hair he still holds loosely in his hand.

"Her hair is the same colour as yours. I saw her first because she made me think of you."

I shake my head and push myself off the arm of the chair onto his lap. "It's not your fault, Falco. Satin went through seven years of reapings and never once did she get near the stage. If Glimmer honestly didn't want this then she shouldn't have raced so hard. She shouldn't have been anywhere close to the front of the group. If anyone but fate is to blame for this then it's Glimmer Goldsmith, not you."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"Because you care. Because you know this is more than just a game," I reply, tucking my head under his chin and holding him tightly as if I hope to squeeze the guilt out of him. Perhaps I do.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this for. It hurts too much."

I pull away so I can look up at him, trying desperately to think of something unselfish when my mind is full of thoughts about how I'll see him even less if he stops being District One's Capitol escort. In the end I can think of nothing better than the question I used to ask myself when I was mentoring Gloss.

"Would you trust anyone else?"

He shakes his head slowly and pulls me back against him. I stare at our reflection in the glass of the window until I fall asleep.

* * *

><p>It's already dark when we arrive in the Capitol but that doesn't seem to put off the reporters as they gather to see us. Marvel strides out ahead with his usual arrogance, but though he attracts his fair share of the attention, it soon becomes obvious that the majority of them are here for Glimmer. She walks by my side as they shout our names, her face somehow an expressionless mask even when she smiles for the cameras. Every so often she turns to look at me just like I turn to look at her. I can't begin to imagine what she's thinking and I find myself wondering if she's thinking the same about me.<p>

"Cashmere! Cashmere, how do you feel about being a mentor again? District One hasn't had a Victor for a few years now so do you think you'll be able to change that?"

"It won't be me in the arena, will it?" I retort with what feels to me to be a very obviously fake smile. The reporters don't seem to notice. They never do. "But I'm confident we'll have another house occupied in our Victor's Village in a few weeks."

I knew it would happen so it doesn't surprise me when a mass of people all suddenly speak at once, thinking that because I've answered one question then I'm sure to respond to a few more. I shake my head and follow Falco into the Remake Centre. I'm not the only person who sighs with relief when the massive glass doors slide shut and the noise abruptly disappears.

"Now what?" asks Marvel. "Remake doesn't begin until tomorrow."

"You'll be found somewhere to sleep tonight and your prep team will meet you in the morning," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady in an attempt to hide how much I can't stand the boy's attitude.

One of the Remake Centre's permanent residents appears just as I finish speaking, waving his arms in a way that makes the excess material worked into the sleeves of his bright yellow jacket flap madly around him like highly ineffective wings. My eyes meet Gloss's as the orange-haired man instructs us to follow him and I can see how he's struggling not to laugh at what he calls the eccentricities of the People from the Other World. He tucks my arm through his and offers his other to Glimmer, who looks at him for a few seconds before accepting.

The Remake Centre man eventually opens the door to a room I immediately recognise as the one I slept in when I first arrived in the Capitol before my Games and tells Glimmer to stay here. She smiles slightly at Gloss, tells me politely that she'll see me tomorrow and then disappears, closing the door behind her with a loud bang when Marvel offers to keep her company.

"Move. Now," snarls Gloss to our male tribute, nodding imperiously down the corridor.

Marvel has the sense to do as he's told, ducking his head and following the Capitol attendant with my brother close behind him.

"Gloss seems…more tense than usual," whispers Falco as we also leave Glimmer behind.

I nod, not quite able to bring myself to talk about what I'm gradually becoming more and more convinced is the reason for that.

* * *

><p>Almost a day later, Gloss and I are standing just inside the Training Centre in the huge entranceway, waiting for the tributes to make their way upstairs after the Opening Ceremony. Or that's the excuse that's always been used anyway. Everyone really knows that the tributes will be put in the lifts downstairs as soon as they get off the chariots and that the mentors only gather here so they can watch the ceremony on the big wall-mounted television screen and discuss arena alliances whenever they think nobody else is looking.<p>

Glimmer and Marvel played their roles as well as I thought they would. They made a good impression with their silver body paint and diamond-encrusted tunics and they were as popular as our tributes always are with the watching audience. District Two also stood out, but the surprise of the night was District Twelve.

The girl who volunteered for her sister and her district partner travelled around the city in costumes wreathed with flames and the crowd loved them. They literally outshone the rest and the part of me that doesn't admire the girl for what she did isn't happy about that. If the crowd were looking at the girl from the coal district then they weren't looking at Glimmer, and as much as the idea of those people sponsoring her makes my skin crawl, she is likely to need their support in the arena before the end.

"You like her, don't you?" I ask, speaking in the quietest of whispers so those around us don't hear as I follow the direction of my brother's unwavering gaze to the television screen, finding an image of Glimmer as she stands tall and proud on the chariot outside the president's mansion.

I look straight ahead of myself then, watching the other Victors and various district escorts milling around as they decide whether to wait here for their tributes to arrive or go upstairs to their floor of the building instead. Gloss is standing close to me, his arm pressed tightly against mine, and I feel him tense instantly at my words.

"She's our tribute. If you mean that I want her to win then of course I like her."

I glance up at him, realising he answered my question in a way that tells me he knew instantly who I was talking about. His eyes meet mine and he doesn't look away. I didn't expect him to.

"You know what I mean and I don't mean that."

"Then what _do _you mean? I met her less than forty-eight hours ago."

"Gloss de Montfort, you know full well what I mean. I've seen the way you look at her."

"What do you mean 'the way I look at her'?"

I am about to respond but quickly fall silent as I sense someone else approach. I spin around in time to see District Two's second mentor, the young man named Augustus who won two years ago, stop a short distance away. I shiver and instinctively step closer to Gloss. There's something about this man I don't like. There's something about the way he looks at me that tells me he's used to getting his own way far too often. I dread to imagine what he's like back home now he's a Victor.

"Sibling rivalry?" he asks, obviously talking to Gloss despite how he's still staring at me. "This early on in the Games, that can't be good."

"There's no rivalry here," I reply, holding his gaze steadily. "Not between Gloss and I at least. Perhaps between you and I…"

"I don't think we need to be enemies right now," he says, and I know immediately that we're talking arena alliances rather than anything else.

This is the way deals are struck in the Hunger Games. A seemingly casual exchange of words between mentors, a decision by one tribute to sit beside another when everyone breaks for lunch on their training days. Everyone here makes those alliances happen and just like I suspected it would when I first saw the calibre of the competitors, the manoeuvring has begun early this year.

"Perhaps not," replies Gloss sharply, standing taller and squaring his shoulders as Vikus drifts over seemingly casually to join our little group. "Not when I'm sure your tribute will be thinking he can enjoy our girl's company in the arena."

I hold Augustus' gaze, not quite daring to look into the cold and totally emotionless eyes of District Two's other mentor, but then when Gloss speaks I have to force myself not to look up at him instead. He sounds so harsh, so unlike my brother that I barely recognise his voice at all. It makes me think that perhaps this is the Gloss the Capitol sees. Perhaps this is the Gloss he hides from me, the person he's afraid to let me see.

Augustus laughs in response. "I don't think that's likely."

"What? Are you trying to tell me he's more likely to want to sleep beside Marvel?"

Even Vikus laughs at that, the sound as cold as everything else about him, but again it's Augustus who replies as he shakes his head.

"If only it was that simple," he says.

The look he then gets from Vikus silences him instantly and makes me surprised he didn't immediately drop down dead. They both look edgy and almost nervous. There's something odd about District Two this year. I can't begin to work out what it is but there's definitely something.

* * *

><p>After exchanging a few more cautious words in an attempt to secure the tenuous beginnings of an alliance for our tributes, Gloss and I quickly retreat upstairs to what is as close to relative safety as anywhere here. We'd have stayed watching the screen with the other Victors for longer if it hadn't been for the arrival of the reporters, but as soon as the telltale screeching of high-pitched Capitol accents reached my ears, I took one look at the expression on my brother's face and decided that enough was enough, for today at least.<p>

"Where's Falco?" asks Gloss when we get upstairs to the Level One dining room and find it empty.

"Meeting sponsors already," I reply immediately. "He's gone to the president's party."

I scowl at the mention of the banquet that President Snow always holds at his mansion after the Opening Ceremony but at the same time I feel grateful that I don't have to attend. As Falco has told me so many times, it's a good opportunity for gaining sponsorship because the rich and well-to-do of the Capitol love to gather there so they can see and be seen, but at the same time it isn't somewhere usually open to Victors. Ursala told me Tiberius had been to watch the ceremony there once, but I knew without her having to say that it wasn't when he was mentoring and that it was during a night that wasn't his own. I've never been.

"How wonderful for him," says my brother as he casually falls down onto the sofa, making a point of putting his feet up on the extravagantly carved and no doubt extortionately priced coffee table in front of him. "I'm sure he's really enjoying himself," he adds sarcastically, knowing almost as well as I do how much Falco has grown to hate what he has to do.

"He'll be back later," I reply. "He promised."

"And he never lets you down."

"He doesn't," I say firmly, knowing that however hard he usually pretends otherwise, Gloss has never totally forgiven Falco for not being able to save me from my fate when I first became a Victor.

I take a step further into the room but as I do the door opens behind me. I spin on my heel to find Glimmer and Marvel walking towards me, carefully maintaining a distance between themselves as usual. They quickly stop and look expectantly at Gloss and I, almost as if they're waiting for their next set of instructions. However I don't know what to say because all I can think of is how other-worldly they look as the dim light coming from the lamp on the sideboard reflects off their silver body paint.

"It's over now," says Gloss, speaking to both of them but looking only at Glimmer.

"They were all staring at that stupid girl from Twelve," spits Marvel. "All because of her ridiculous costume. Don't they realise she'll be dead on the first day? District Twelves always are."

"They were staring at us as well," says Glimmer, somehow managing to make me think she's subtly berating Marvel for begrudging the disadvantaged ones their few seconds in the spotlight with her tone of voice alone. "You heard them shouting for us when we went past as well as I did."

"You're both high up in the betting," I say, trying to diffuse the tension between them. "You did very well tonight."

Marvel smirks, taking my words as pure praise like I knew he would, but Glimmer just smiles faintly and stares unblinkingly back at me, the diamonds on her tunic twinkling as they catch the light. I watch her for several seconds before I notice how she can't quite keep still, always shifting from one foot to another or lifting an arm slightly before putting it back where it was as if she doesn't dare move.

Then I remember. When I was a tribute girl my body paint was gold rather than silver, but I still recall how much it irritated my skin even now. Lace made me sit through the whole of the Opening Ceremony replay before I was permitted to leave so I could wash it off but I'm determined not to be the mentor she was. Glimmer has far too much pride to ever admit her discomfort but I can tell she feels it. I might not know what to say to her but it seems I've finally found something I can do that will make her feel better.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," I tell them, smiling knowingly at Glimmer. "There's no reason for you to endure the Opening Ceremony more than once."

She nods to me, telling me without words that I was right about both her desire to leave and the reason why, and then she quickly retreats towards her rooms, not even looking to see Marvel following behind her. A couple of seconds later I hear the sound of a door slamming.

"It seems he's been put in his place yet again," I say to Gloss, guessing what I heard was Glimmer shutting her bedroom door in Marvel's face.

"Good," replies Gloss, smiling for what I think is the first time since we arrived in the Capitol.

He lifts his arm up, resting it along the back of the sofa as I walk across the room. I sit down and curl up against him and we sit there for hours, doing our best to talk about arena strategies even though we still know virtually nothing about the other tributes. I try to point out to Gloss that this will be a lot easier once training begins but he seems determined to carry on anyway and I go along with it. I know better than to argue when he has that look in his eyes.

"What was that?" he asks, halting our discussion about the pair from the fishing district in response to what I soon realise was the sound of the outside door closing.

"Either someone coming in or someone going out."

"Are you expecting Falco back?"

"Not until the morning."

"If it was Glimmer…" he says, starting to push me away so he can stand up.

I cling to him so he can't, suspecting it probably was. "Leave her, Gloss. She probably just wants some space. Nothing will happen to her in the Training Centre and you know she can't leave."

"She shouldn't be alone."

"Perhaps she wants to be alone," I reply. "People deal with being here in different ways. She'll come back when she's ready."

He nods and shrugs his shoulders, apparently deciding that now isn't the time to argue with me and returning to his previous relaxed position. I breathe an inward sigh of relief and we stay there until the early hours of the morning when Falco returns.

"How did it go?" I whisper, speaking into the darkness in response to his familiar hand shaking my arm.

"The plan is starting to come together," he replies cryptically, making my heart somehow rise and sink at the same time as I instantly know he means the new plans for rebellion.

"Falco-"

"Not here," he replies. "Not now."

I nod even though I know he can't see me, allowing him to pull me gently to my feet. Gloss wakes as soon as I move, and he exchanges a few sleepy words with Falco before leaving to go to bed. He tells me to do the same so I do, dragging Falco with me despite where we are. I know the risks but his subtle reference to the rebellion plot makes me decide I don't want to be away from him. Just in case.

* * *

><p>"They have to join the Alliance," I say as soon as Gloss walks into the dining room a few hours later. "It's the only way."<p>

"Wait and see what they say about the rest when they've been to training first," he replies. "I told Glimmer to watch them, especially Two and Four."

"And what else did you tell Glimmer?" I retort, regretting the sharpness of my words when I see his expression close instantly. "I'm sorry," I continue, standing up and walking over to him as he sits down. "I just don't want you to get attached to her when she's for the arena in a few days."

"I told you before, I want her to live. I thought you would want the same."

"Of course I want her to live. It's just…I…if I asked you to choose between them then I don't think it would take you long to make your decision."

"I want her to live, Cash. Whatever it takes."

I'm not quite sure what to say to that but I decide to try anyway. However before I can speak the door opens again and the subject of our discussion walks in, dressed in training clothes with her golden hair clipped tightly back. Glimmer might not have wanted this, but at least she's decided to fight. I can tell that much from the fierce look in her bright green eyes.

She walks over to me, stopping only about a stride's length away, and all I can think is that I wish she'd sit down. She's taller than me, long-limbed and slender and so very beautiful. Every time I look at her I'm reminded of what will happen to her if she wins. Who am I to keep that from her? Doesn't she have the right to know? But if I tell her then will she change her mind about fighting for her life? If I tell her and she does then will Gloss ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself?

"Sit down," says Gloss, taking my hand and pulling me onto the seat on his one side, never taking his eyes from Glimmer. "Have something to eat."

She sits down on his other side but she doesn't eat. She just looks at him with that half-smile she has, the one which makes her appear like a frightened animal that can't decide who to trust.

As I didn't ask her when we were on the train, I know I should do what mentors are supposed to do and ask her about her previous training, about her favoured weapons and her likely arena strategy, but I can't seem to find words. I can talk to virtually anyone but there's something about this girl's ice-cold mask that makes me freeze. However Gloss doesn't seem to notice as he slides a plate of food in front of her and smiles. He also shows no sign of seeing me sigh with relief when Falco walks in.

"Are you ready for training, Glimmer?" he asks, very deliberately sitting down a lot closer to me than is strictly necessary.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replies, her eyebrows raising almost imperceptibly at the lack of distance between Falco and I.

I see him instantly smile at her reaction and inwardly groan, knowing he won't be able to resist winding her up. I say nothing though, curious to see if he can be the one to finally make her façade crack.

"I don't think the same can be said for my district partner," she continues, her voice full of the usual mixture of amusement and contempt she seems to reserve for Marvel.

"Where is he?" I ask, suspecting I already know the answer.

"Still in bed, I presume. I'm not about to go and check."

"I'll go," says Gloss, quickly leaving the room.

"I'm going to meet a few potential sponsors later," says Falco, smirking in response to the glare I send in his direction as I try to silently tell him that now probably isn't the time. "Will you come with me?"

"Sponsors?" I ask suspiciously, trying to work out if he's telling the truth.

"Yes, Butterfly, sponsors. I'm sure they'd rather see your pretty face than be forced to look at me all day."

"Falco," I hiss warningly, his words confirming how he's being both deliberately obvious and deliberately obnoxious because he's trying to get a reaction out of Glimmer. He'd never mention Games sponsors and me in the same sentence otherwise.

In that respect he hasn't changed over the years. Most of the time, when he's in the public eye at least, he is the image of the dignified member of government, but every so often the boy who walked into the Silver Fountain at the biggest shopping centre in the city because his friend dared him to still makes an appearance.

Glimmer says nothing but watches us closely with an almost amused expression on her beautiful face. She was born and raised in District One. It will take more than that to shock her.

"Don't I have time for breakfast before training starts?" comes Marvel's voice from outside in the corridor.

"It's gone quarter to ten," snaps Gloss. "You should have got up earlier."

My brother looks angry when he strides into the room, though I have no idea what Marvel could have said to make him so. He takes a piece of toast from my plate and then returns to the door, holding it open for Marvel and Glimmer.

Marvel grabs what he can from the table and then leaves. He looks mutinous but he still seems to have enough sense not to argue with Gloss, making me reconsider and think that maybe he isn't a total loss after all. Glimmer, however, doesn't move an inch.

"It's time to go, Glimmer," says Gloss, nodding sharply at the door.

"I know I'm only a mere tribute but is your attitude really necessary?" she purrs, almost reminding me of Narissa but for the innocence in her eyes that I doubt the Capitolian woman ever possessed. "It wasn't me who didn't get up on time."

"You'll be late," he replies, his expression unreadable.

"They can't start without me," she says softly as she gets up and walks slowly past him. "Or they won't be able to in a few days anyway."

Gloss closes the door behind them and I immediately turn to Falco. He raises his eyebrows questioningly but says nothing until we both hear the click of the front door closing.

"I don't expect her to forgive me but I would have thought she'd let you try to help her."

"You did nothing wrong. Not on purpose. I told you that," I reply, sighing deeply. "I don't know what to say to her. I want to help her but I don't know how to because she won't talk to me."

"Give her time," he replies, the look in his eyes telling me he knows what I'm thinking before I can say it.

"She might not have time."

"Be there for her. That's all you can do. Or let Gloss be there for her. He seems to be having more luck at getting some kind of response."

His tone of voice tells me instantly that I'm not the only one who's noticed the way my brother looks at Glimmer but I shake my head and say nothing. I'm not ready to start talking about that yet. I'm not sure I'm ready to even start thinking about it. I didn't feel strong enough to confront what's quickly getting harder and harder to deny before the Opening Ceremony and I still don't now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Are we really going to talk to sponsors?"

"Of course," he says with a smirk, shaking his head as he walks towards me. "What did you think we were going to do all day?"

"Leave me alone," I say sulkily. "It's too early in the morning and I haven't had enough coffee."

"Poor Butterfly," he replies mockingly, pushing the back of my chair to tip it up and then dragging me from the room. "I'll get you more coffee when we're out."

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer me and I soon find myself jogging across the entrance hall and out into the City Circle, trying to keep up with his long strides. The ever-present reporters all jump to their feet when they see us and I'm grateful when Falco pushes me into his car ahead of him.

"We're going to speak to all of the people who want to sponsor the winning tribute," he tells them as he leans against the side of the car.

They fire a barrage of new questions at him immediately but he shakes his head and sits down, telling his driver to go before he's even closed the door. It seems neither of us are in the mood for reporters this morning.

"Did you think about what I said yesterday?" I ask him. "What happened with Glimmer wasn't your fault."

"It still shouldn't have happened."

"But it did," I reply, shuffling closer to him and resting my head on his shoulder. "You can't go back and change it. Nobody can."

"She didn't want to be a tribute. Gloss told me what she said to him on the train."

"I wouldn't know. Whatever she said, she didn't say it to me."

He turns to look at me in response to my tone of voice and I meet his gaze steadily. We have no secrets, and he knows my brother well enough that he'll soon work out what I'm now convinced is the truth for himself anyway.

"He wants her to win, that's all. He's doing his best to help her."

"Keep telling yourself that if you want to," I reply, pushing myself closer to him to take the sting from my words. "I know what I see and he isn't looking at that woman like she's just another tribute."

"I suspect I'd be a little too hypocritical if I got involved in this one, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," I reply, letting him go and returning to my side of the car as it slowly comes to a stop.

Falco gets out first, holding the door open for me, and as soon as I step out I recognise where we are instantly. There's only one place I know of that has pink marble walls and gold lift buttons and that's the car park entrance of the biggest shopping centre in Panem.

"You meet the sponsors here?" I ask incredulously, realising how little I know about how this side of the Games actually works. I guess I expected pledges to be made in dingy offices and backrooms that are as sordid and dirty as the deals many of the sponsors make with the president when the Games are over, but it seems I'm about to discover a very different reality.

"It depends," he replies, smiling at me in a way that tells me he knows what I'm thinking. "Not always but I am this time. We're going to the restaurant."

"I hardly think that's the easiest place to have a private discussion about sponsorship," I say, laughing at how he immediately pretends to be offended.

"You have no faith in me at all, do you, Miss de Montfort?"

"Well…"

"Upstairs," he retorts, pointing to the open lift doors. "Now."

"You can't talk to me like that in public," I reply, laughing again as I do as he says. "Think of my reputation."

He rolls his eyes at me in a very uncharacteristically undignified gesture and pushes the button for the top floor. Seconds later the doors slide open directly onto the massive restaurant and all I can see is a mass of silver tables covered in pristine white table cloths.

I've only been here once and that was with Falco and Felix on the night I met Achillea. The place was full of people then but it's currently far too early in the morning for most Capitolians to even be thinking about getting up so now it's virtually deserted. Some of the tables are occupied with people eating breakfast but they ignore me totally and because of that I don't feel nearly as uncomfortable as I did before.

I follow Falco as he crosses the room towards a short, fat man who is currently holding court by a tall black stand, shouting out orders to those who appear to be waiting on the tables. None of them says a word in reply, making me think they must be Avoxes even though they look so Capitol that their crimes could only have been committed here in the big city.

"Falco!" calls the man, his voice far louder than is strictly necessary, almost like he wants everyone to hear his easy familiarity with one of the best known politicians in Panem. "This is a surprise. I would have thought you'd be occupied with Games business."

"Prosperus," replies Falco smoothly. "You know full well I called you last week so don't pretend to be surprised. I hope you have the room prepared and the catering under control."

Prosperus, who seems aptly named if I can judge by our surroundings, looks distinctly nervous, and for some reason I feel sorry for him as he visibly quails under Falco's stern gaze. I smile encouragingly at him and his eyes widen with interest as he smiles back.

"Miss de Montfort, what a pleasure to be able to welcome you here again."

"Call me Cashmere," I tell him, holding out my hand for him to shake and giving him my best smile.

Prosperus looks at me with curiosity but nothing more, and if he owns this place then he can't be poor so hopefully he'll decide he wants to sponsor District One in the arena this year. He smiles back before scanning the massive expanse of space around him, searching for someone or something he obviously can't find.

"My daughter would love to meet you," he says, carefully avoiding Falco's gaze. "She was only four when you won the Games and she nagged me for days until I sponsored you. Can I introduce you when she comes back?"

I nod at the same time as noticing that we seem to be attracting a lot more attention than we were before. Falco sees it too and quickly steps in front of me, taking my hand and pulling me forwards. I let him but keep looking at the restaurant owner, drinking in the sight of the first person I've ever met who sponsored me in the arena for a reason other than to satisfy his or her own base desires.

"I think now would be a good time for us to leave," Falco says imperiously, making Prosperus jump slightly.

"Of course," he replies, also stepping forwards as he shows us down a wide and bright corridor towards a big white door with a finely carved golden handle. "Carry on in and I'll bring you some refreshments. I'll show your guests in as they arrive."

I follow Falco through the white door but what I see makes me come to an abrupt standstill almost immediately. Used though I am to luxury, this room goes beyond that, and I stare up at the crystal chandelier and then down at the dark wooden floor. There is a dining table in front of me and it's laid out with solid gold cutlery and masses of pure white plates and dishes. Beyond that there's a huge window with the same view as the rest of the restaurant. I can just about see the silver ivy leaves that criss-cross around the roof.

"What is this place?"

"Prosperus has a number of private dining rooms that he hires out. You asked me how we were going to have private discussions about sponsorship and this is how. It's ours for the day."

I nod and sit down at the table, rubbing a non-existent mark off the handle of the nearest knife nervously. Just the mention of Games sponsorship makes my stomach twist uncomfortably and I'm suddenly not sure I want to be here.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," says Falco, seeming to read my thoughts.

"She's like I was," I reply, telling him what I was thinking rather than replying to what he said. "She'll bring out the worst in them and you know why they'll want her to live. She's prettier than me, you know what will happen if she wins."

"Which is why I want you here," he says. "Marvel and Glimmer are amongst the early favourites after last night. I can't promise it will stay that way once the cannons start firing but at the beginning we'll be able to choose whose money we accept. You can help me judge."

I almost smile, feeling a little better and finally letting go of the knife. If it's a matter of life and death then we'll take anyone's money to keep them alive but until it comes to that we can at least maintain a pretence of control. I don't want to be here but I owe it to Marvel and Glimmer to do what I can for them.

"Anyway, who says she's prettier than you? I don't think so."

"I like to think you're biased," I reply, really smiling this time.

Then Prosperus returns with the promised refreshments and shows the first potential sponsor in and it all begins. For most of the time I sit in silence, watching as Falco does all of the talking and only joining in the conversation if I approve of who we're talking to. Falco quickly realises what I'm doing and is quick to dismiss those I ignore, telling them he'll speak to them again shortly and then crossing them off the list as soon as they leave.

As the last one closes the door behind him I shudder, feeling his eyes on me long after he's disappeared. He didn't say the words but he wanted Glimmer out of the arena and I know why. He reminds me of the Second One, the one I know Falco killed as soon as I was physically well enough for him to put me on a train and send me home.

"No," I say. "Absolutely not."

Falco takes a deep breath and releases the edge of the tablecloth that he's been gripping tightly ever since the man walked into the room. "How I didn't kill him, I have no idea."

When he says that, I realise he was thinking exactly what I was thinking.

"How you didn't kill who?" asks another voice as the door opens again.

The owner of the voice steps into the room and I recognise her instantly, remembering how hers was one of the names I heard mentioned in a hushed whisper when Achillea was still alive and we all thought the rebellion might succeed. Phoebe was one of the many would-be revolutionaries who blended back into the background when the old woman died, and I suspect she is now partly responsible for the decision to try again seven years later.

She takes her blue suit jacket off and throws it across the room onto one of the sofas by the window, not seeming to notice her opulent surroundings. As I often do, I wonder what it must be like to be so used to such luxury that you cease to notice it. Then I remember that she spoke when she walked in and decide I should say something in case she mistakes me for the awestruck district girl she thought I was when we first met.

"That feeble excuse for a human being who just left," I say, speaking before Falco can as I look across at the woman who now stands only a short distance from me. "Hello, Phoebe."

"Fancy seeing you here, Cashmere," she says amusedly, running a hand through her neatly styled hair. "I suppose I should have known. Any excuse, isn't it, Hazelwell," she adds, not phrasing her words like a question.

"This is Games business, Phoebe," he replies with a smile. "Cashmere has something of a vested interest in Games business."

"I think you have too much trouble hiding your vested interest in her and too little concern for your own safety," she says, more than a hint of concern mixed in with her disapproval.

"Don't start," he says. "You're my friend not my mother."

Phoebe sighs and sits down on the chair recently vacated by the man who certainly won't be sponsoring any tribute of mine. She owns several large businesses in the city as well as being a member of government in the same department as Falco, and though I have privately questioned the ethics of this, nobody else seems to care. Falco told me he met her shortly after his father died and that she was a good friend to him when he had to step into the role he inherited.

She stares at me across the table, smiling when I hold her gaze steadily. I wait for her to speak even though she seems intent on forcing me to be the one to make the first move. After a while I decide that she's not going to give in.

"Are you here because you want to sponsor a tribute?" I ask her, genuinely puzzled as to why she's sitting here rather than in some business meeting somewhere. "I didn't think you were one for sponsorship," I continue, really wanting to say that I didn't think she approved of the Hunger Games but knowing better than to say the words aloud.

"I'm not, but I'm going to a party tonight and I might change my mind at midnight," she replies cryptically, looking at Falco this time. "I wanted to find out about this year's competitors just in case."

I am about to ask her precisely what she means but then I remember all I've learned about the revival of the rebellion plot and how quickly it's supposedly now progressing. I can't imagine a dignified woman like Phoebe doing anything that might make her change her mind at midnight so it must be her way of communicating something she doesn't want overheard. A meeting. It must be. Tonight. And Falco's invited.

"I think you'll find either of our tributes to be a good bet," I reply, forcing myself to keep my voice steady when all I really want to do is cling to Falco and tell him not to go, to stay out of it just for once.

"I thought as much," she replies, speaking just as steadily even though I can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows I know about the plot. "My daughter favours District Eleven, but she always did fight for the underdogs if she thought they had a chance."

I am about to say something else but Falco interrupts before I can.

"And what does Phaedra know about such things?" he asks, once more giving me the impression that nobody but me is talking about the Hunger Games.

"Enough," replies Phoebe. "Too much."

"How?"

"_He_ told her."

Wonderful. First there was a '_She_' and now there's a '_He_'. I glare at Falco, silently telling him that the next time we find ourselves alone and where we can't be overheard, he'd better start talking.

"Why?"

She shakes her head and doesn't respond, pointedly scanning the room around her to tell us she can't in case someone's listening. The door opens again and Falco growls at it in frustration at the interruption. I feel like doing the same when Narissa casually strolls into the room like she owns the place.

"What do you want?" I snap.

"That's not very friendly," she replies. "I'm only passing by."

"You're never just passing by, Narissa Redsparrow. What do you want?"

"How's your little brother, Cashmere?" she asks, ignoring my question completely. "I tried to see him last month but I couldn't."

I shrug my shoulders. "He's as well as can be expected," I say, my voice losing some of its venom no matter how hard I try not to let it.

In the seven years since Gloss won the Games, Narissa has paid the president for his time on numerous occasions. At first I hated her for it, and in a way I still hate her for it because I can't bear the thought of my beloved brother being bought and sold by anyone, but I can't feel as strongly as I once did. Most of the time when Gloss returns home from the Capitol, many weeks will pass by before he loses the glazed and haunted look in his eyes, but I know when he's been with Narissa because the man who comes back to District One is the same as the one who left. He might not love her but it's his choice to lie with her and I can't forget that.

"Good," she says, smiling slightly before turning her attention to Phoebe. "What are you doing here?"

"Mind your own business, Redsparrow," replies the other woman, her eyes narrowing sharply.

"I get the impression that this is my business."

"I don't think there's a lot you can do at the moment," retorts Phoebe, her every word sounding like an insult.

"Old enmities aside, I think you know that's not true," says Falco, interrupting before fur starts flying again. I know from past experience that it wouldn't be the first time.

"I don't think she's all that good at negotiation," replies Phoebe, making me wonder exactly who there is to negotiate with. "The whole of the Capitol would agree that she's better known for what she does in the bedroom than for what she does in the boardroom."

I just about manage to disguise my laugh as a cough, abruptly remembering exactly why I liked Phoebe last time I met her. Narissa glares at me, smoothing invisible creases from her red dress before fixing that same glare on her opponent.

"And where do you think people are more likely to give away their secrets, Mrs Prim and Proper? You'll all come crying to me in the end and won't I make you beg before I help you."

"Like I said, I don't think there's anything you can do," says Phoebe, obviously trying to contain herself and then abruptly failing. "If Eliana could see you now," she adds disapprovingly. "If she could see what you've become."

"My mother's dead, Phoebe," replies Narissa, narrowing her eyes sharply at the other woman. "And I don't know what you mean by that. There are people with far worse morals than I and you know it."

"Ladies, please," interrupts Falco, cutting across Phoebe before she can answer Narissa. "surely if you're here to talk to Cashmere and I about sponsorship then we're all on the same side."

I breathe a sigh of relief at how quickly he managed to bring the conversation back to being about the Games, hoping that the others will take the hint. They do, and Phoebe turns disdainfully away from Narissa, her dark-eyed gaze finally falling on me.

"Do either of you want to sponsor a tribute?" I ask, not knowing what else to say when really all I want to do is question them about the rebellion.

"I'll sponsor your brother if you like," replies Narissa, smirking and leaning back in her chair.

"I thought you already did," I say sharply, noting how Phoebe looks on in disapproval.

She laughs, standing up in one fluid movement. "You know where I am if you decide you need me," she says, looking pointedly at Falco.

He nods and she quickly leaves the room.

"Eliana was her mother?" I ask, turning curiously to Phoebe.

"Achillea's only child. We grew up together."

"How did she die?"

"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time," she replies cryptically, and something in her expression tells me that's as much information as I'm going to get.

Even if I wanted to question her further, I don't get chance to because there's a knock at the door and a number of black and white uniformed waiters start to bring us a lunch which would easily be worthy of the finest banquets in the city. Phoebe stays to eat and so I spend the next few hours listening to her telling Falco all that's been going on while he's been preoccupied with the Games.

I listen with interest to her tale of how one of her colleagues has been receiving death threats from an unknown source nobody seems able to trace. It's probably totally unrelated, a simple case of a man making enemies with the wrong person, but I can't help but be reminded of the risks they're all taking with their plotting. One of the things I've learned since I became a Victor is that while life in the districts is far from ideal, it is very often the Capitol that is the most dangerous place be.

After she leaves, Falco and I meet a few more potential sponsors, however they come and go and I barely see them. The more I think about everything I've heard recently, the more questions I have about the new rebellion. There are so many things that had to go unsaid for obvious reasons, but there are also so many things they did say that make no sense. Narissa was a significant figure in the last attempt to overthrow the president, so why isn't she as heavily involved this time? Who is _He_? And rebellion against the government is something you either support or you don't, so how can they possibly be involved in negotiations? Who is there to negotiate with?

I turn to Falco as soon as the last sponsor has closed the door behind her, and I can tell by his expression that he can see my questions in my eyes.

"We should go back to the Training Centre," he says. "They'll be coming back from the gymnasium soon."

"We should talk," I reply, meaning about matters I can't refer to directly even though I know anyone listening in would think I'm talking about arena strategy.

"We will," he says, understanding me immediately. "But not here. Not now."

"Soon," I say firmly, only following him out of the room when he nods his consent.

* * *

><p>I jump at the sound of the door closing, thinking it's Glimmer and Marvel returning from their first day of training. This is it now, time for the Games to really begin. They've seen the competition up close so now it's time to work out who's going to fight and who's going to run, who has a chance and who doesn't, who's going to live and who's going to die before the sun sets on the first day in the arena. I try to push my fear and reluctance away, knowing I can't allow my own emotions to stop me from doing what a mentor must, but I still shiver at the thought.<p>

However a short time later the dining room door opens and Gloss appears. I should have known he wouldn't stay away for so long that he wouldn't be back before the end of training. I'm glad, and not just because I'm pleased to see him. He deals with Glimmer a lot better than I do, and the fact I don't want to think about the reason for that is irrelevant when it comes to thinking about why we're really here. I might not know what to say to our tribute girl but I still want her to live.

Gloss quickly crosses the room to me, lifting my legs up so he can sit down on the other side of the sofa before putting them back across his lap.

"Where have you been?" I ask immediately, swatting his hand away when he pulls at the beading on one of my shoes.

"I could ask you the same question, sister dearest," he replies, slowly and pointedly looking at Falco with a smirk on his face.

"We've been looking for sponsors," I answer, trying not to notice how my words displace the smirk and replace it with an almost angry frown. "But I asked you first," I continue lightly, sighing with relief when he smiles slightly.

"I went to see what I could find out about the competition," he says. "You know how the president likes as many of his Victors to be here during the Games as he can get."

I wince in response to what he says, more because of his tone of voice than anything else. The emphasis he puts on '_his Victors' _makes my skin crawl despite the number of years that have passed since I truly belonged to President Snow in that way.

"And?" I prompt, knowing as well as my brother does that past Victors are a good source of information whether they realise it or not.

"District Four are trained," he replies. "If they weren't then Shay wouldn't be looking so sure of himself."

"What did he say?"

"Not a lot. But he called me his competition in a way that made me think he thinks there will be a competition."

I shake my head. "He's not even mentoring this year. And besides, trained or not, they're not usually as good as ours."

"No," interrupts Gloss before I can finish. "But that doesn't always matter if they can rely on sponsors to save them."

I know he means Finnick Odair so I quickly change the subject. "What else did you work out?"

"Not a lot really. Seeder seemed upset over the little girl. Mags was with her making sure she didn't say something she shouldn't. Or that's the impression I got anyway. I'll leave District Two to you as you seem to have a way with them," he adds, half teasing me over my unlikely friendship with Ursala.

"Fine. If you're too scared, little brother… Or do you just get fed up of being called 'Pretty Boy'?" I continue, laughing at the scowl that appears on his face when I mention the nickname most of their Victors have called him by ever since a tribute girl named Megaera Domani first used it in the arena seven years ago.

He laughs before abruptly becoming serious again. "I almost forgot. I saw Haymitch Abernathy as I came back to the Training Centre."

"So? He's here every year," I say. "He's Twelve's only one so he has to be."

"He walked past me, Cash. In a straight line."

I jerk my head around to look at him then. It's well known that Haymitch Abernathy turned to drink as a way of dealing with his victory in the second Quarter Quell and I don't think I've ever seen him sober. If he has stopped drinking at a time like this then it doesn't take much to work out that it must be something to do with his tributes. Maybe he thinks the coal district has a chance this year. Maybe he thinks the almost-scrawny looking girl who volunteered for her sister and then dazzled the city at the Opening Ceremony is going to do more than die in the bloodbath on the first day in the arena.

"I'll see what I can find out," says Falco, obviously reaching the same conclusions as me. "Effie Trinket isn't known for her reticence if she thinks there's some publicity in it for her."

I smile and Gloss nods thoughtfully just as the door opens again. Marvel strides into the room looking more than a little pleased with himself and Glimmer follows more sedately behind. If I didn't know she'd been to training then I'd never have guessed. She hasn't a hair out of place and there isn't a mark on her.

They both sit down, Marvel at the head of the dining table and Glimmer on the armchair next to Gloss's side of the sofa. She smiles slightly at him and I'm not at all surprised to see him smile back.

"How did you get on today?" I ask, deciding that the sooner we start this the sooner we can finish.

"Fine," says Glimmer. "We trained and the Gamemakers took notes."

"That wasn't what I was asking," I reply, knowing instantly from the look on her face that she knew that already.

"The real tributes sat together at lunch," says Marvel before she can speak again. "The proper tributes."

"And?" says Gloss, his eyes narrowing sharply at the younger man.

"District Four seemed okay. She's not much to look at but they both know what they're doing," he continues, speaking as if the girl from Four's physical appearance is a significant factor when it comes to deciding if she'd be a good ally or not. "I don't like District Two."

"In other words, District Four listen to you when you speak and don't look like they'd threaten you in the arena whereas both from Two look like they'd wipe the floor with you without breaking a sweat," says Gloss harshly, turning away from Marvel when he stammers a furious denial. His eyes meet Glimmer's for a split second and I see her nod almost imperceptibly in confirmation.

"She isn't a volunteer," I prompt, thinking of the dark-haired girl from Two. "And she isn't exactly…imposing, is she?"

"Clove can fight," replies Glimmer, her tone of voice telling me the girl can do a lot more than just fight. "Knives and swords but mostly knives. She never misses."

"And her district partner?"

"Could kill virtually every other tribute with his bare hands."

"The Alliance?" I continue, not wanting to stop now she's finally talking to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gloss and Falco listening closely.

She shrugs her shoulders, somehow making even a gesture such as that appear graceful. "Two will fight together. They…knew each other before they came here, I think. Four will do as they're told and I think they've been told to stick with us."

"And you spoke to them?" asks Gloss. "You're going to join them?"

She shrugs again. "That's how it works, isn't it?"

I nod but say nothing, waiting to see if she'll carry on. She doesn't, and we sit in silence until Falco finally speaks again.

"How about the others? There are eighteen other tributes besides you, Two and Four."

"They're just children," says Marvel with his usual arrogance. "They're no match for us."

"District Twelve stayed together," says Glimmer, her skills of observation when it comes to seemingly minor details showing me she is both a true daughter of District One and a lot more than just a pretty face. Not that I ever doubted it. "They matched. I mean they were dressed the same," she clarifies, smiling slightly. "And they sat together at lunch. The others didn't do anything special."

"Arturo tried to speak to District Eleven," says Marvel. "We thought it might be worth having him on our side until the bloodbath's over. Just in case his mentor puts any ideas in his head and he decides he'll try and fight back. But he was too stupid to take the offer we made him."

"Intelligent enough to see right through you, more like," snaps Glimmer, speaking with more conviction and passion in her voice than I've ever heard.

"If you think that then why did you try to speak to him after training? What did he say? That's assuming he can talk, of course."

She literally growls at him then, leaning forwards in her chair. "He said he wouldn't join us. That he'd rather die as himself than as a traitor to his district."

"At least he acknowledges that he's going to die," replies Marvel with a cruel smirk.

"Perhaps you should save yourself a lot of pain and do the same," she retorts, jumping to her feet so quickly that Gloss only just manages to pull her back before she can launch herself at her district partner.

I stare at her in shock. Until now I had doubted she had it in her to fight in the arena but the look she had in her eyes just then told a very different story. Perhaps she has more of a chance than I could have hoped for. It just strikes me as being odd that it takes the mention of a man from District Eleven who she doesn't know to finally bring her walls crashing down.

Marvel glares back at her, his trademark smug smile reappearing so quickly that I almost think I imagined the uncertainty I saw cross his face when she went to attack him. Glimmer merely smiles the fake smile she gives the cameras and turns away.

Soon after that the Avoxes bring our food in and Falco and I spend the following couple of hours attempting to make conversation while Glimmer and Marvel exchange increasingly venomous looks. Gloss sits with me on one side and Glimmer on the other, saying nothing but clearly deep in thought about something.

Before the dessert plates have even been taken away, both of our tributes excuse themselves and go to bed, and once they've gone there doesn't seem much point continuing to talk about the Games. Gloss announces that he's going for a walk and soon after I hear the sound of the front door click closed behind him.

"You really think he has feelings for her, don't you?"

I nod. "I know him better than I know myself, Falco, and I've never seen him look at someone like he looks at her."

"And you don't like her?"

"No. I mean yes, I like her," I reply, not sounding or feeling entirely certain. "Well I don't know her enough to say either way really. It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"She's a tribute," I reply, knowing what he'll say before he speaks so much as a word.

"So were you, but you came back to me. Perhaps she'll come back to him."

"She might, but it isn't only that. I loved you, Falco. Even then when I hardly knew you, I loved you. Glimmer doesn't love Gloss. Whether she wins or not, she's only going to cause him pain, and Panem knows he's had enough of that already."

"But he has to work that out for himself. You can't tell him who to be attracted to any more than he can tell you, Butterfly. Do you think he'd have chosen an arrogant, selfish member of the dreaded Capitol government for you?"

"Don't say that. You're not selfish," I say, unsuccessfully trying not to laugh at his rare attempt at self-depreciation. "And I know I can't dictate that to him. But I love him so much that I don't want to see him hurt more than he already has been."

"I know, but all you can do is be there for him. You can do no more than that."

I make myself smile, realising that, as usual, I do feel a bit better for speaking to him even if I can't quite accept what I can no longer deny. He seems to understand and spends the next hour or so distracting me by telling me all that's been happening in the Capitol, doing his best to explain what's happening with the rebellion without saying anything that could incriminate either us or anyone else involved.

Eventually the things he says get so far-fetched that I know he's making them up to make me laugh but I don't care. I laugh and he laughs and for one small moment I forget about Gloss and Glimmer, about the rebellion and about the Games. All I think about is him and for once I'm happy. Then the front door clicks loudly closed again and we're both brought back to reality with a painful crash.

**Chapter 3 done already... Thanks to everyone who's commented so far ;) I don't have anything else to say this time other than go and vote for your favourites in the Pearl Awards if you get chance. I think the voting ends very soon... (But if you're nominated and don't want to vote for or against yourself then you can't vote - I tried and the voting form wouldn't let me)**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thanks to all my reviewers and those of you who have added me to your favourites page :) Your encouragement and reviews keep me posting :)**_

_**I'm sure you all know me well enough by now to expect constant references to my favourite district at every available opportunity but I think I got a bit carried away in this one... However Mr Odair makes a brief appearance as well so I guessed you'd forgive me...**_

Chapter Four

I went to Gloss's room last night as soon as Falco left, a worried feeling that I couldn't shake clinging to me as tightly as my nightmares ever did. My first thought was that Falco couldn't possibly be going to a meeting at midnight, but then I remembered what Phoebe had told him. Just like in the stories Sapphire used to tell me when I was a little girl, the darkest hours of the night are when rebellion is planned, and for that reason I've been trying not to think any more about it. I knocked on my brother's door several times and when I got no response I pushed tentatively against it. However it swung slowly open to reveal nothing but an empty room. The bed was made and there was no sign Gloss had been there at all.

I attempted to tell myself that he'd merely gone out again and hadn't told me, however even as I tried to make myself think it, I knew that I never would. I didn't believe it then and I still don't believe it now. If he'd gone out then I'd have heard the front door close and I know I didn't. The only explanation is that he went to Glimmer, and I walked past her door this morning without even daring to glance at it. I had to get out and that's how I came to end up here.

The Games are held at the same time every year and it's always at the height of summer, but as I look up at the imposing dark stone of the Control Room building, a cold wind blows and makes me wish I'd worn a coat. The place is totally deserted and even the surrounding park is empty of the usual crowds. I wasn't going to come here before the Games started and I certainly wasn't going to come here without Gloss, but I need somewhere where I can be alone to think, and for someone as famous and well-known as me, I don't exactly have a wide range of possible destinations to choose from.

I approach the first set of massive glass doors and they slide silently open. The television screen that fills the entire wall on one side of the entrance hall is still there, exactly as I remember. The sight of the gold seal of the Capitol on its dark blue background makes me shiver and look away. I make myself look back at it. It isn't going to change until the tributes get to the arena in slightly less than four days time so if I'm going to go into the main Control Room then I'd better get used to it. There are countless screens in there and they'll all show the same thing.

The sound of footsteps makes me jump, and when I realise they're coming from above my head, I glance at the intricate gold staircase that Falco told me leads to the Gamemakers' rooms upstairs. The flash of deep purple robes accompanied by the sound of voices deep in a conversation I can't quite make out is enough to send me flying through the second set of glass doors when they've barely had time to slide open. The last thing I want is to find myself face to face with the Gamemakers.

Or should I say, the second to last thing I want is to find myself face to face with the Gamemakers, for when I stop and stare at the Control Room's only other occupant, I realise there's one even worse alternative.

I have studiously avoided the fishing district's most famous and notorious Victor ever since I won my own Games eight years ago. Though I've seen him at countless Capitol parties and banquets, I haven't been this close to Finnick Odair since he found me on a balcony of the District Four Town Hall during my Victory Tour.

He'd been scarcely more than fifteen at the time and both of us had been totally ignorant of what our fate would be, but I find it hard to care how much time has passed and how much he's changed when all I can see is the boy the Capitol loved enough to engineer his victory by sending him the perfect weapon. He's a couple of inches shorter than Gloss but broader across the chest and shoulders, and his bronze-coloured hair shines even in the artificial light of the Control Room. I hate him as much as I hated him on the day he sank his trident into Sapphire's heart on the last day of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games.

"Cashmere," he says leaning casually against one of the desks with what I'm sure is carefully practiced insouciance.

I spin on my heel, deciding to take my chances with the Gamemakers as my mind suddenly sees nothing but the look in Sapphire's eyes just before she died.

"Don't leave on my account," says Odair. "I was just going."

"I thought you might be," I reply, stopping without turning back to face him. "I'm surprised your latest…lover has let you out of her sight for long enough for you to get here in the first place."

"What can I say? You've either got it or you haven't and I've always had it."

I snarl at his flippancy and he laughs, sauntering past me in that way that seems to make the majority of Panem's population fall over themselves in their desperation to worship him and his so-called god-like beauty. All I want to do is hit him over and over again and never stop. I want to say something in response but he's gone before I can begin to find words.

I stand still for a minute, shaking with a rage that surprises even me. I thought I had started to let go of what happened to Sapphire, that I had convinced myself Finnick Odair only did what virtually any other person would have done in his position. After all, didn't I kill in the arena because the only other alternative was my own death? However seeing him that close up, seeing the vivid brightness of the sea-green eyes that sometimes still haunt my dreams, makes me realise I'll never move on. The rational part of my mind knows why he did what he did. The rest of me will never forgive the person who killed the girl I loved as a sister.

Eventually I take a deep breath and regain enough self-control to walk further into the vast room. The desks are still laid out as they were when I was here as Gloss's mentor, the district numbers are still illuminated in bright red, and the many, many television screens still surround me so I can't look anywhere without seeing the Capitol seal. Give it a few days and this place will never be empty, but right now it's barely been disturbed.

The only things I can see that aren't normally here and part of the room are a small bunch of tiny yellow flowers I've never seen before resting on one of the chairs beneath the District Eleven banner and a very familiar seashell necklace draped across the top of a computer screen at District Four's desk. Pelagia's necklace. I still remember the day Mags put it there because it was the day of Gloss's victory, the day the old woman from the fishing district finally left the seat she'd sat in as she'd watched the tribute girl she loved like a granddaughter die in the arena at the hand of her own district partner.

Then I start to wonder if the necklace has been there ever since or if someone brought it back. As that is most likely a question I'd have to ask Finnick Odair, I guess I'll never know.

"You should have killed her all those years ago," comes a soft, strangely-accented voice from the entranceway as the glass doors slide open again. Something about that voice makes me duck behind a massive stone pillar before I can be seen. "Then we'd be on our way to another victory instead of being in this mess."

"Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Moreno," is the harshly spoken response I hear just as I peer around the pillar to see Vikus and Enobaria walk across the room towards the District Two station.

They walk at arm's length from each other, him towering over her but somehow looking no more intimidating. She stops in front of one of their computers, flicking her long black hair back from her face as she examines it closely. What's she doing here? She isn't a mentor this year. What's she looking for? And who should Vikus have killed while he had the chance?

"If they're the last two left standing then the only people with the problem will be them," continues Vikus, suddenly laughing cruelly.

Enobaria says nothing for a while until she eventually straightens and turns to face her fellow Victor. "Tell him what his pretty Nightlock's fate will be if she lives and he'll definitely kill her. Either that or he'll tell her and she'll fall on her own blade."

"The fate of many a Victor but never you," replies Vikus thoughtfully.

"Never me," she retorts fiercely, putting something I can't see into her pocket and striding from the room.

Vikus follows a few seconds later, leaving me alone once more, and I sigh with relief when the doors slide shut behind him. I have no idea what they were talking about but I also have a feeling it wouldn't have worked out well for me if they knew I'd overheard.

I look at my watch and see with great surprise that it must almost be time for the second day of training to come to an end. If I'm going to speak to Glimmer alone then now is my chance if I can find her before she goes back upstairs.

Despite thinking of little else all day, I don't quite know what I think I'm going to say to her, but I still feel like I have to say something. Who am I to judge her? I know I'm not in a position to, but I can't ignore whatever it is between her and Gloss. And anyway, she's my tribute and I'm determined to help her whether she wants my help or not. It's about time I made her understand that.

* * *

><p>When I get to the gymnasium I listen closely for the sounds that will tell me the tributes are still training, but I hear nothing. I peer cautiously around the slightly open door and my heart sinks when I find the massive room to be empty. It's taken me all day to make the decision to find Glimmer and now I'm here I'm too late.<p>

I quickly back away then, not wanting to look at the gymnasium because it brings memories of being here as a tribute come flooding back so strongly. When I look inside I can almost see Sheen standing reluctantly by my side and Corvinus smirking at me from the sword fighting station. I can almost see Dahlia hitting the target with every knife that leaves her hand, and thoughts like that only cloud my mind and stop me from concentrating on why I'm here.

I walk down the corridor without paying much attention to my surroundings. I don't expect anyone else to be down here, so I'm shocked when I turn the corner and find a pair of silver-grey eyes staring back at me from the nearest alcove. Before I recall who she is, I expect her to look away and shrink back in fear. Then realisation hits me and I know she won't.

She looks nothing like the usual tribute girls from her district. She rises steadily to her feet and I see she's at least a head and shoulders shorter than me, her body petite and compact despite the training she must have had if she can fight as well as Glimmer says she can. Even her skin isn't the usual olive tone I'm used to seeing. Her hair is the same almost-black as most citizens of District Two, but her skin is pale, even paler than mine. As pale as Enobaria's, although I see nothing else of my fellow Victor in the young woman before me.

"What do you want?" she asks sharply, still not looking away.

"I might ask you the same question," I retort, refusing to be intimidated by a tribute girl nine years my junior even if there is something about her I can't quite define which makes that a lot more difficult than it should be.

"She's waiting for me," sounds a deep voice from behind me. It makes me spin around instantly, and my eyes follow the man warily as he walks past me to stand beside his district partner.

If she is anything but stereotypical then at first glance he is the opposite. Everything about him screams District Two tribute, from his skin tone and strong features to his massively powerful figure that only years and years of hard training could create. He stares down at me, his blue eyes fierce even though he says nothing further.

"Shouldn't you both be upstairs by now?"

"And spend our time with our mentors and Selene Fairfax?" replies the girl who I remember Glimmer referring to as Clove. "I don't think so."

"Selene's not there," I say, trying to keep her talking while I attempt to work them out. "She's waiting for a reporter outside in the City Circle."

"That figures," says Clove derisively as she fluidly reaches down to pick up what proves to be her jacket from the floor. "Someone should put her in the arena and see how much she likes the attention she gets then."

I struggle to keep my expression neutral then, not at her words but because of the way she leaned into her district partner as she reached down. I would have expected him to push her away or maybe even worse, but it's the fact he doesn't respond at all that puzzles me more than any other reaction would have. Falco and I are like that sometimes, and a lot of the time I will subconsciously move over for him or lean on him so I can reach something that would be too high or too far away if I didn't, but we've been together for years. Why am I seeing that similarity in two people who will be trying to kill each other in a few short days time? I look away from them, telling myself to stop thinking so much.

Then all three of us spin around in response to the sound of footsteps approaching from the other end of the corridor, and for a short time my mind is back in the damp confines of my arena and it's like I never left. It takes me a few seconds and several deep breaths to calm myself down, but when I turn back to District Two's tributes I realise my reaction would have been barely noticeable compared to theirs.

The man whose name I don't know pulls Clove behind him and my first confused thought is that it's a gesture of protection. Then I see how they now stand back to back rather than with her behind him and I instantly remember Corvinus and Dahlia when they fought the muttations in my arena.

"Jumpy," whispers Clove to her district partner, her voice teasing and so low that I don't think she intended me to hear.

He glares at her, an expression I'm sure has already had many of the reaped tributes paralysed with fear, but Clove merely smiles in response, tipping her weight onto her heels and pushing her shoulder into his back before quickly moving away down the corridor. Her now amused-looking district partner follows her just as Falco walks around the opposite corner.

"What are you doing down here, Butterfly? Glimmer and Marvel are already upstairs," he says, looking at me curiously as he stops by my side.

"I know that now, but I didn't when I got here. I wanted to speak to Glimmer."

"Why?"

"You know why."

"Hypocrisy isn't something you'll be thanked for later."

"This isn't hypocrisy," I retort. "When I was a tribute girl I always stayed in my own bed."

"So does Glimmer," replies Falco with a smirk, trying to tease me out of my bad temper.

"It's not funny, Falco," I say, scowling back at him.

"It's also none of your business. She might be a tribute but they're both adults and they're intelligent enough to make their own choices."

"I know, I know. It's just-"

"You don't want Gloss to get hurt," he finishes. "I know that, but ambushing Glimmer isn't going to prevent that if it's going to happen, is it?"

"I wasn't _ambushing_ her. I only wanted to talk."

"And you'll get the chance to, but not now. Not in this corridor."

I sigh deeply, resting my head on his arm until I remember where we are and abruptly stand upright again. "I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

"No, but you're trying to control something that you can't." I eventually nod and he smiles before starting to walk back down the corridor away from the gymnasium and towards the second set of lifts. "I heard voices. Who were you talking to?"

"District Two."

"The tributes?" I nod again. "What were they doing down here?"

"Delaying their inevitable return to their mentors, I think."

"Together?"

"Yes. They're not like District Two usually are. They usually hate each other or at least pretend to, but I saw the way they reacted when they heard you coming and didn't know who you were. He trusts her to watch his back and she trusts him. Whatever's going on with Two this year, its tributes aren't enemies."

"You should tell Glimmer and Marvel."

"I'll tell Marvel," I reply. "I don't think I have to tell Glimmer. I've no doubt she's already working all this out for herself."

He smiles thoughtfully in what I take to be silent agreement and then leads me back down the corridor and up to Level One. I smooth my hair back from my face and straighten my back, getting ready to face our tributes once more as the doors slide open. Somewhere at the back of my mind there is a little voice telling me that it shouldn't be me who is dreading this.

* * *

><p>The day that is the third the tributes spend in the basement gymnasium passes by in a blur of sponsorship meetings and television interviews. They ask me all the usual questions: 'Am I confident of another District One victory?', 'How do I feel to be mentoring for the first time since Gloss became a Victor?', 'What do I think about those who will be the opponents of my tributes?'. All usual, standard questions except for one, which I definitely wasn't expecting.<p>

When I was walking back across the City Circle on my way here to the Training Centre for the scores announcement, a reporter with vivid pink hair and what looked like diamonds set into her cheeks asked something I couldn't have predicted. She asked me about District Twelve, about whether I had heard the rumours flying around the city that the coal district's tributes did something unknown that's making people consider them to be genuine contenders for the first time in Hunger Games history.

I didn't know what to say so I said nothing, and when I asked Falco he said he hadn't heard anything either. But despite that we both decided the speculation must have started somewhere. As they say, there is no smoke without fire, and with that in mind I decide to make sure I watch the training scores programme until the very end this year.

I walk into the television room just as the screen springs to life to show the almost orange-skinned presenter as he prances around his studio in a fit of excitement. I look away quickly, finding Falco and Marvel sitting as far away from each other as they can.

"Where's Glimmer?" I ask, really wanting to ask where Gloss is but not quite feeling willing to admit to being ignorant of my brother's whereabouts.

"I'm here," she says as she follows me into the room.

The green dress she wears is very simple by Capitol standards, but it doesn't seem to detract from her beauty despite its lack of embellishment. In fact as I look at her more closely I find myself thinking that the plainness of the dress only enhances her naturally stunning looks further. Glimmer always seems to dress simply whenever she is permitted to choose her own clothes, almost as though she's trying to blend in. I doubt she even realises that all trying to blend in does is make her stand out even more.

I focus my gaze beyond her then, expecting Gloss to be with her, however there's no sign of him. Marvel's photograph fills the screen and they're getting ready to start revealing the scores before my brother finally arrives, for once forsaking Glimmer and sitting down so close beside me that I fall against him when the sofa dips with his weight. I don't even have to look at him to know something isn't right. I can sense it without him having to say a word so I shuffle even closer and he puts his arm across my shoulders, never once looking anywhere but straight ahead at the television.

"Gloss," I whisper, keeping my voice so low that I know nobody else will hear.

"I did it for her," he replies equally as quietly. "Now watch the training scores and forget about it."

"What did I tell you before we left home?" I say, and this time the others turn to look at me.

"Cash, please," he pleads. "Let it go."

"For now," I tell him. "But not for long."

He knows me well enough to know that's the best he's going to get so he says nothing more and we all turn to watch the screen. The presenter eventually decides that he's been silent for long enough to build up sufficient levels of tension and the number eight flashes up beneath Marvel's picture.

"I deserve more than that," he says, his voice and everything about him seeming totally different as for once he reacts instinctively and reveals a glimpse of what I suspect is his true self. A boy who came to the Capitol seeking an easy route to glory and riches but then found the reality to be very different.

"The training room is nothing," says Falco, not unkindly. "The arena's where it counts."

Then Glimmer replaces her district partner and she scores nine. She says nothing so nobody else does either, however I feel Gloss's sigh of relief and see his eyes briefly meet hers.

"I told you," she says once the pair from District Two have both been given tens. "She's as vicious as he is. And she's smart."

"I got that impression," I reply, exchanging glances with Falco while everyone else looks on in puzzlement. "Make sure you don't give them a reason at the Cornucopia because I also got the impression they'd be quite happy with an alliance of two instead of six."

"Four against two puts the odds in our favour," says Marvel as District Three's pitiful scores flash up in the background.

I nod, silently thinking that from what I've seen of his interaction with Glimmer, he's more likely to find it three against three if the traditional Career Alliance fails before it truly begins. And if that happened then he'd be on the losing side, I can say that almost for certain, especially when Arturo and Varia from Four both score eights.

Then we watch in silence as the rest of the training scores appear before us, mostly because there isn't really anything to say. Some scores are higher than others but nobody is given more than a six. That is until we get to District Eleven.

I try to tell myself I'm imagining things when Glimmer sits up straighter in her chair as the man from the agricultural district appears on the screen, his eyes even darker than Falco's and seeming to stare right at me. She leans back again when his ten appears under his picture, crossing her legs and then immediately uncrossing them again as if she can't quite keep still. It seems Marvel is at least clever enough to learn from his mistake from a couple of days ago, because he scowls viciously but says nothing, not even daring to speak when the little girl scores a shockingly high seven.

As I promised myself I would, I remain intently focussed on the television as the programme moves on to District Twelve. The boy, who is blond-haired and looks unusually well-nourished for a tribute from the coal district, scores a respectable eight, however he isn't the one who I'm sure will stun the entire nation.

His unremarkable-looking district partner appears a short time after him and I start to turn to Gloss, thinking the show's over and dreading the painfully familiar haunted look I know I'll see in my brother's eyes. Then Marvel's astonished gasp draws my attention back to the screen and I find myself staring at the flashing number eleven beneath the girl's photo.

"But she's from Twelve. She's nothing," stammers Marvel, and for once I feel no dislike for the boy because I know he's only saying what everyone else is thinking.

"No, she's the Girl on Fire," says Glimmer, her voice full of disgust as she copies the name all of the Capitol's reporters have adopted for Katniss Everdeen. "Prepare to be blinded by the light and burned by the flames in the arena."

Gloss smirks at her mocking sarcasm but I just keep staring at the screen, staring into the hard, grey eyes of the girl from the coal district as the number eleven continues to flash below her face.

"I think Cato and Clove will extinguish her flame before it really starts to burn," retorts Marvel, trying to hide the hint of fear that still shows in his voice at the mention of his supposed allies. This time he almost succeeds.

"Cato?" I ask, turning to look at our tribute boy as I suddenly begin to realise why the man from District Two seems so familiar.

"Yes," he replies, a look of curiosity for once replacing his usual smirk. "Do you know him?" he continues, the smirk abruptly returning.

"No. How could I possibly know him?" I snap, returning my gaze if not my attention back to the screen and refusing to say anything further.

However what I said isn't strictly true. As I now remember, I might not know the man called Cato but I have seen him before. Now I recall the blue-eyed boy who came to Ursala's house when I was there during Gloss's Tour, I find it difficult to imagine how it's taken me so long to make the association between him and the man Cato has become.

"Cashmere?"

"I'm fine," I reply, turning to Falco and seeing the concerned look on his face. "Honestly."

He seems unconvinced but doesn't say anything else. I try not to think of Cato, of the anger he seemed to radiate when Ursala mentioned the man who is now his mentor. He must have been little more than eleven years old at the time even though he looked older, and if he was capable of feeling that much rage and hatred then, I fear for Glimmer and Marvel when I imagine what he must be capable of now he has the physical strength to match.

"Can I be excused?" asks Glimmer, abruptly interrupting my thoughts.

I nod and she leaves the room, Marvel swiftly follows but not before he takes a wary look at Gloss.

"I should be going as well," says Falco, also looking at Gloss but with an expression that tells me he's only leaving so I can talk to my brother alone.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I shuffle far enough away from Gloss so I can look up at his face. He pulls me back against him immediately, his eyes never meeting mine, but then he changes his mind and pushes me from him just enough so he can rest his head on my shoulder. His hair is damp against the side of my neck, telling me he didn't bother to use the Capitol hairdryer after he showered. He never does, especially not after he's been doing the president's business. Although in this case I hardly think I can refer to it as that.

"Did you not listen to a word I said before we came here?"

"I listened to you, Cash," he replies quietly. "But I'll do what I have to do to keep her alive. I'm not losing someone else I love in the arena."

I stare at him as his words slowly sink in. Normally if anyone else had said that to me then I'd have laughed, saying it's impossible to fall in love with someone you barely know in the space of little more than four days. However this is Gloss, and even before he went into the arena, he's never had much of a middle ground between indifference and total love and devotion. Besides, it took me a while to admit it, but I knew there was something about Falco when I first saw him on the tribute train. If it wasn't for Satin then I'd say that perhaps love at first sight runs in the family. I just wish it wasn't her. I wish there wasn't only a one in twenty-four chance that she won't die in the arena as he watches powerlessly from the Control Room.

"She has sponsorship money already, Gloss," I say. "You don't need to be…doing that to get her more. The Games haven't even started yet."

"Seven years," he replies. "Or near enough. Seven years of going with those disgusting, immoral, despicable excuses for people because I have no choice. One more makes little difference if it saves Glimmer."

I hug him tighter, not able to bring myself to let go even for long enough to wipe the silent tears from my face. I hold him against me as if I can keep all the rapidly splintering pieces of him together, fearing he will break irreparably if I don't. I had thought to talk to him about Glimmer, to make him see she doesn't feel for him what he feels for her, but how can I? It makes no difference if she loves him back or if she doesn't. He loves her and I haven't got it in me to break his heart.

* * *

><p>I shiver and pull my blanket more tightly around myself. I should go back to bed really. I can't sleep but at least I wouldn't be so cold. Or perhaps I would. Falco isn't here and I suspect that if I went to Gloss's room then I would find it empty.<p>

I'm about to get up and go when the door opens and a familiar figure walks in, stopping abruptly as soon as she sees me. She tightens the belt of her robe and crosses her arms across her chest, looking slightly guilty and more than a little defensive.

"You don't have to run away, Glimmer," I call as she turns to leave. "Sit down if you want to."

She turns back, looking long and hard at me before crossing to the drinks machine and getting two mugs of coffee. Her bare feet make no sound as they touch the thick carpet.

"I don't think that's going to help either of us sleep, do you?" I say when she slides one of them towards me, smiling because my words remind me of what I said to Falco in this very room before my own Games.

"I haven't got time to sleep," she replies quietly, looking down at her hands as if she wishes she hadn't spoken.

"Falco really did think you reached the stage first," I say, not wanting to sound like I'm defending him but wanting to say it all the same.

"I know," she says eventually. "It just all happened so quickly. If I didn't look like I was trying then Father would know," she continues, and something in her voice tells me that she'd take her chances in the arena rather than face her Father's wrath over this, "but before I knew it I was at the stage and I was still at the front. I tried to drop behind but I was too late. The momentum of the pack carried me up the steps and Falco just saw me first. People always do," she adds, her tone full of sadness rather than arrogance.

I say nothing for a while, staring across the table at her as I truly understanding how different we are for the first time. I raced for the stage because I was foolish enough to think it was the best way to escape from my father and his plans for me. Glimmer raced for the stage because her father wanted her to, because he thought his daughter becoming a tribute would improve his status in the ever-competitive, cutthroat world of the rung of the District One social ladder below that of the old families like mine.

"I know you don't like me, Glimmer, and I can barely begin to guess why, but I'll do everything I can for you. I hope you believe me when I say that."

Her eyes widen, and she looks surprised for the first time in my memory. "You think _I _don't like _you_?"

"You haven't exactly given me cause to think otherwise," I reply cautiously. "I know where we are and what it feels like to be in your situation, or to be a tribute at least, but you've barely spoken two words to me since we left District One. I meant what I said when I told you I want to help you, no matter what else is happening here."

"I know. I believe you," she says, sounding sincere and smiling what I decide is her genuine smile. I've never seen it directed towards me before now. "And I might not have wanted this but I've trained for it. I can do more than they all think."

"Hide behind your beauty," I tell her, more to gauge her reaction than because I think she'll actually do as I suggest. "Let them think you're just a pretty face."

"I don't think that kind of act will fool them all," she replies immediately, making me inwardly sigh with relief that my faith in her intelligence wasn't unfounded. "District Two aren't stupid. Neither is District Eleven."

I narrow my eyes at her mention of the man from District Eleven. It isn't the first time she's spoken of him and there's something about her expression when she does that tells me she's struggling to think of him as her enemy.

"You're not short of sponsorship money anyway," I say, deciding both not to push her when she's finally opening up to me and also attempting to avoid the subject of Gloss for as long as possible.

She nods, lifting her mug up and holding it under her chin as she gazes at me with her massive green eyes. She looks at me like she's never seen me before, her attention moving away from my face to the sapphire pendant at my throat and then to the bracelet Falco gave me that still hangs around my left wrist, his equivalent of the wedding ring he'll never be able to place on my finger.

"I'm not sure I want to be a Victor," she says, finally breaking the silence as her eyes lock with mine once more.

My mind starts to race at her words. Does she know the truth? Did Gloss tell her? He wouldn't. I'm sure he wouldn't.

"I don't think I could put up with being in the spotlight all the time," she continues. I hope she doesn't notice my relieved sigh. "How do you do it?"

"I do what I have to do," I reply. "I'm luckier than some."

"Gloss hates it here, doesn't he?" she says, surprising me by being the first to mention my brother, who has been as much of a presence in the room as he can be when he isn't here from the moment she opened the door.

"He's never liked all of the…attention he gets when he comes to the Capitol," I say cautiously, suspecting she will sense she's not getting the whole explanation.

"You think I'm wicked," she says suddenly, startling me with her bluntness as she abruptly changes the subject. "You think I'm using him because I'm bored or frightened or…or something else. But I'm not."

"I love Gloss more than I could ever express in words," I reply slowly, trying to say what I feel without driving her away. "I don't think you can say the same, and why would you? You barely know him."

"I-"

"No, Glimmer," I continue, cutting her off before she can really speak as my brain suddenly starts functioning properly again and I feel better able to express what I've been thinking ever since we arrived here. "I don't think you're wicked, but I also don't think you have it in you to love my brother the way he deserves to be loved, and for that reason I wish you'd turn him away."

At first I think she's going to try and deny it but before she can even say anything I realise she won't. She's a lot of things but she isn't a coward and I knew as soon as she sat down that she wouldn't run from the issue any longer.

"I try," she replies, her voice little more than a whisper. "I spend all day telling myself that it won't happen again, that I'll send him away because he's a good man and he deserves better than me, but when I see him I don't want to. He helps me get through all of this," she says, gesturing to the grandeur of the room around us. "He helps me escape. And I know I don't love him but sometimes I think I need him."

"I understand," I say, surprised to find that I actually do, "and you have my support in the arena. But if you ever hurt him more than you must then you know you'll have me to answer to."

"I already know that, Cashmere," she says, once more fixing me with that earnest expression she sometimes has that is a big part of what makes it impossible for me to hate her. "He loves you, too. He'd do anything for you. You're luckier than you know."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You have a brother who loves you, a sister who loves you," she says, making me wonder what she knows of Satin, "and your lover is the man you love with all your heart. You have more than virtually anyone. Anyone I've ever met anyway."

For several seconds I'm speechless. She's always spoken her mind, perhaps because her family's lower status has meant she never had to learn to watch her words in quite the same way as I did, but her honesty still shocks me. Not to mention her assumption about Falco, because I know without her directly saying so that she means him.

"I know that," I reply, not seeing the point in denying it. "Don't think I don't. But there is so much I hope you never know."

She nods and stands up, sensing that she shouldn't waste her time by asking me to explain further. "I'm pleased we cleared the air," she says. "When we first met I thought you were the shallow and superficial person I see in the interviews, the one who models in the fashion shows and thinks she's so special. I was wrong and I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Glimmer. Just promise me that you'll fight, that my brother won't have to watch you die in the arena."

"I promise to fight. That's the best I can do."

She turns and flees the room before she's even finished speaking and I instantly regret bringing up the arena. She almost collides with Falco, who steps aside to let her past and then quickly crosses the room to wrap me in his arms when he sees the expression on my face. He stands beside my chair, stroking my hair back from my face as he waits for me to speak.

"At least we finally had a proper conversation," I say eventually as I try to smile.

"We'll get through this," he replies, taking my hand and dragging me across to the sofa, still holding me tightly as he sinks down onto it.

"If that girl lives," I reply.

"I'm not sure I understand this, Butterfly," he says, sounding almost reluctant to say out loud what I've suspected he's been thinking for a while. "Did Gloss know her before she became a tribute?"

"No," I reply, trying not to sound defensive on my brother's behalf. "Does that make a difference?"

"Not really," he says, squeezing me tightly in a way that tells me I failed to keep my voice as even as I hoped to. "I'm not in a position to comment, but…it doesn't matter."

I shuffle around and push myself closer to him. "It won't matter if she doesn't win."

"I think it will matter a lot more if she doesn't win," he says before kissing the top of my head and refusing to say anything further no matter how much I question him.

When I realise he isn't going to answer me I think about what he said, and the more I do, the more I think he's right. If Glimmer lives then Gloss will have time to decide if he really loves her or merely loves the idea of her. If she dies in the arena then he will never have that chance. All he will know is that the Games have taken another of his loved ones from him, and I'm not sure I'll be able to pick up the pieces for a second time.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For as long as there has been a Hunger Games, there have been interviews with each tribute held on the night before the arena. Equally as traditional is spending the day before in training, which is supposedly the chance the mentors get to coach their tribute and help them present their best side to the Capitol audience. However by the end of yesterday I think I felt a lot more exhausted than Marvel and Glimmer, who in their own individual ways seemed determined to make my job as difficult as possible.

If I'm honest then Marvel wasn't too bad. For all his faults, he knows who he is, and he never seemed short of a response when I tested him with questions Caesar Flickerman is likely to ask tonight. He was his usual arrogant self, of course, but as that's how he's going to be when he's on stage, for once it wasn't actually a bad thing. At least he won't have trouble staying in character, which is more than I can say for Glimmer.

Usually a tribute and their mentors get some say in how they will portray themselves when they meet Caesar on Interview Night, but in Glimmer's case the reporters made that decision for her as soon as she threw back her golden hair and smiled for the cameras on Reaping Day. The smile was fake, and now I know the truth I can see that when I watch the replays, but they can't tell and even if they could, they wouldn't care. She's remarkably attractive and though she hates the word with more passion than I've ever seen her show my brother, she is sexy and that's how she'll always be in their eyes, all she'll ever be. That's the angle she has to have whether she likes it or not, and from every word and gesture she's made in my presence since the day I met her, I can say with absolute certainty that she does not.

I lead her across the entrance hall of the Training Centre, knowing that her style team will already be waiting for her. She seems nervous today, though I know she'd never admit it. She's usually quiet but she's barely said a word all morning and was as silent as an Avox throughout the entire photo shoot, even with all of the camera crews swooning over her and telling her how stunningly beautiful she is. Not that I blame her there. I know they need photographs of the tributes to put in the books and magazines, but first thing in the morning on the day before the arena? They could choose a better time.

The ever-present reporters even follow us in here, clinging to both Glimmer and me in the hope of hearing something they can put on the front page of their evening paper. I look at the clock and realise it's time. I have to do as I promised Falco I would and I have to do it now. I don't want to leave Glimmer here but I have no choice. If I don't go now then I'll be too late.

"That's enough now, no more questions," I say to the reporters, smiling my now familiar and much-practiced fake smile. "We have preparations to make and we don't need an audience."

Just as I'd hoped, they believe both my smile and my excuse are genuine and rush off in a flurry of comments and speculation about tonight's interviews, all promising to return later.

"Wait here. I'll be back in five minutes," I say, looking across at Glimmer. She's still staring after the reporters, scowling slightly and giving no indication she heard me.

It doesn't take me even five minutes in the end as I get a short way down the corridor and practically walk into Heavensbee's lilac-uniformed servant. He drops the pile of papers he's carrying in a very impressive show of surprise, allowing me to slip the carefully marked envelope into my pocket when I reach down to help retrieve them.

Before I know it I'm about to turn the corner back into the entranceway, however I come to an abrupt halt when I hear my name, spoken by Glimmer but in a tone of voice I've never heard her use. She sounds light and almost flirtatious, nothing like the solemn and thoughtful girl who's been my companion all morning.

"Cashmere says I have to use the way I look to win the support of the Capitol and distract the other tributes. Is it working?"

Whoever she's talking to doesn't answer her for such a long time that I almost start walking again, conscious of the fact that her stylist won't wait for ever, not even for my curiosity. Then I immediately change my mind when I hear the reply, spoken in a deep voice that is far from unpleasant despite the rough, uncultured accent I can't immediately place.

"It's not just me who's distracted, Capitol-girl."

I almost manage to convince myself I imagine hearing the way Glimmer's breath catches in response but I don't get chance to think about it more because I'm suddenly distracted by the unmistakeable sound of the reporters returning. I instinctively put my hand to my hair to check it isn't out of place as I push myself from the wall once again. I've been lucky so far that nobody else has needed to walk down this corridor but I'm not stupid enough to think that luck will continue once the camera crews start prowling around again.

However as soon as the sound reaches me, it begins to fade again, signalling that they've all merely passed through the entrance hall without lingering. But surely they saw Glimmer? And when they did they wouldn't be able to resist stopping to question and photograph her. Much to her disgust, they've never resisted before, so why would they start now?

"Thank you," comes Glimmer's voice again, once more in that light and sultry tone she couldn't manage to achieve during her interview training no matter how much she insisted to me that she was trying her best.

"What are you hiding for?" asks her companion, his every word helping me to put together the pieces of the puzzle and work out who he is.

"Because I'm fed up of feeling like an animal trapped in a cage," she replies straight away, all lightness and seduction gone as her clear voice turns harsh with anger. That single sentence tells me more about the real Glimmer than anything she's ever said to me. Perhaps we're not so very different after all.

"That's not going to change, is it? The Capitol lives for beauty and look at you," he replies, totally guileless and somehow a complete contrast to the Capitolians who have spent most of the morning telling her the same thing.

"Why are you waiting here?" she says, and I can almost hear the smile she surely has on her face reflected in her voice.

"Chaff. He said he'd be here. He's late."

That tells me all I need to know. Now it all makes sense, from the way she launched herself at Marvel when District Eleven was mentioned when we were talking about what happened during their time in the gymnasium to the way she couldn't keep still as we watched the reveal of the training scores. I don't know how my tribute girl knows this man who should be her enemy or at the very least her competitor, but know him she does, and I don't need to see her face to know another truth as well.

I have always had my doubts that she loves my brother and now they have all been confirmed in a few short minutes. Of course she smiles prettily for Gloss and tells him more about herself than she'll ever tell me even as she tries to convince herself that she feels for him what he feels for her, but never has she laughed for him the way she laughed just now, never has her breath caught as he walked into a room. My heart aches suddenly at the thought that whether she wins or whether she dies, the only outcome there is for Gloss is yet more pain.

"I'm waiting for-" she starts, not getting the chance to finish before I push myself away from the wall and stride around the corner to stand by her side. "-Cashmere," she finishes, her green eyes flicking guiltily to mine even though she can't possibly know how much I overheard.

"And now I'm here," I reply, narrowing my eyes at the man from District Eleven whose name I don't know even as I try to conceal my emotions. "You must be District Eleven. I've _not _heard so much about you," I continue, turning my attention to Glimmer.

Then I look back at District Eleven and for a few seconds he meets my gaze steadily even though he doesn't speak. I find myself comparing him to the man from District Two, deciding that if it came down to a fight between them then they'd be fairly evenly matched in strength if not in training. For a second I consider that Glimmer might be hedging her bets in case the Alliance crumbles, but then I realise that's merely wishful thinking. I've seen the way she looks at him and heard the way she just spoke to him. I know she isn't playing arena games.

He nods once to me and then looks at Glimmer, the expression on his face telling me that the attraction she feels isn't unrequited. That's when I decide this has gone too far already and that it's well past time for us to leave. However for some reason I can't make myself turn away. Who am I to tell her to stop being so stupid? Who am I to tell her to stop wasting her time on something that can never be? I know better than virtually anyone what it is to desire someone I really shouldn't. Can I really be so hypocritical?

"We have to go now," I say, reaching my decision when Glimmer touches my arm. She is my responsibility and I have to do what's best for her. And this isn't what's best for her. This is what's likely to result in her cannon firing on the first day in the arena. I owe it to her, to myself and certainly to Gloss to make her see that.

She turns back to look at him as we walk away, and though she returns her attention to me as soon as she senses me watching, her smile hasn't quite faded when she does. It's her real smile rather than the fake version the cameras get, and I shake my head sadly in response.

"Don't even think about him, Glimmer. It will only cause you pain if you do."

"I know," she says in a voice so quiet I can barely hear her. "Believe me, I know, but knowing never did stop me from thinking."

* * *

><p>Glimmer follows her prep team into her room like she's being led away to her death, and I stand watching until the door clicks shut behind her. When I was a tribute girl, back when I was far too naïve to know any better, I never had a problem with Remake once I'd got over the initial shock of being expected to strip naked in front of complete strangers, and I still think fondly of Drusilla, Charis and Callista even now when I hardly ever see them. However Glimmer isn't like me. I can't imagine her letting any of her style team get close enough to call her 'friend'.<p>

I sigh and walk quickly back the way I came, calling for Gloss as I go. I expect him to appear like he usually does, stopping whatever he's doing to talk to me like he would when we're at home. But then I remember that this is the Capitol, and he's never like he is at home when he's here.

By the time I reach the slightly ajar door that leads into the dining room, there's still no sign of him, but what I do hear is two other voices, deep in conversation. One is every bit as familiar and equally as beloved as that of my brother, but the other is less so. That second voice sounds all the stranger now it's lost some of it's usually ever-present arrogance, so though I'm very conscious that I seem to have spent the entire day eavesdropping on other people's conversations, I hover outside in the corridor so I can listen anyway.

"They want to help you but you don't exactly help yourself, do you?" says Falco, which makes me guess they're talking about the build up to the Games and our male tribute's belief that Gloss and I favour Glimmer over him to the point where we've already decided to fight for her even if it means his death.

"I don't need their help," he replies, sounding slightly less sure of himself than usual. "I can look after myself in the arena. They'll be sorry when I kill Gloss's little whore and her allies. Then they'll see they made the wrong choice."

"You're either very brave or very stupid if you think you can take on District Two in a straight fight as soon as you get in the arena. And if you listen to only one thing I say then take my advice and don't call Glimmer that in Gloss's earshot. If you do then you'll be lucky if you can stand upright on your starting plate when Claudius Templesmith starts the Games."

"It's what she is," he says sulkily.

"I thought you were smarter than that. Do you honestly think everything is so black and white?"

"No. I'm not stupid but I am what I have to be," replies Marvel angrily. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Try me," answers Falco, his perfect calm a complete contrast to the younger man's rage.

"If I wasn't who I am then I wouldn't stand a chance in District One. It might not be kill or be killed like it is in the arena but it's close enough."

"District One isn't an easy place to live, I know that. But your mentors don't alienate everyone who has the potential to help them and they come from the same place as you."

"You see only their public faces. Their Capitol faces," says Marvel, making me silently laugh at how wrong he is. "I'm too poor to claim to know the likes of the de Montforts, but there's a snake hidden behind Cashmere's pretty face. There must be or she wouldn't have lived this long. And Gloss is capable of anything."

I hear Falco laugh quietly but his reply to Marvel is anything but mocking. "You could be right there," he says, and for the first time in a long time I think about it and reluctantly decide he probably speaks the truth. "But they've always been courteous enough to me. You'd do well to learn from them or you won't have many friends either in the arena or out of it. And the only thing that will get you is an end you don't want."

"I don't need friends, Falco," he says. "I need to live."

"Well in that case you should listen to me. I wasn't talking about Cashmere or Gloss. I was talking about you. It's no good whinging that they don't help you if you act like a spoiled child and spend all your time telling them you don't need them. Virtually everyone in Panem wears a mask, Marvel, but if you don't take it off occasionally then even those who want to be there for you will never see who you really are."

I remain perfectly still, not even daring to breathe, but then I hear the unmistakeable Capitolian accents coming from just beyond the front door and I know that I'll never know what his answer would have been. Seconds later, his prep team burst through the door, their screeching doubling in volume as soon as they see me.

"I wondered where you were," says Falco as I quickly duck into the dining room before they can reach me.

"I came back with Glimmer. We were a bit late. You know how the cameras love her," I continue, raising my eyebrows to tell him exactly how little she loves them.

"She's with her prep team already?" asks Marvel.

I nod. "I always said you boys have it easy."

He laughs and for a split second I don't dislike him. For that split second I feel guilty for so obviously favouring Glimmer instead, because the more I think about it and the more I repeat what he told Falco over and over again in my head, the more I realise that I do. But there's nothing I can do to change what's happened. All I can do is carry on and hope one of them comes back. That's all any mentor can do.

"Your prep team are here now," I tell him, however my words are rendered useless when they storm into the room just after I say 'prep'.

He leaves without a word, probably because he doubts he'll be heard over the noise the Capitolians are making, and once he's gone, I cross back to the door and close it behind them.

"Where's Gloss?" I ask Falco immediately, starting to move towards him and then stopping a short distance away when I remember where we are.

"He went to see a few people about sponsorship," he replies, before hastily continuing in response to the look on my face. "No, Butterfly, not like that. They're people we know. I said I'd go but Gloss wanted to go himself. I think he's trying to stay busy so he doesn't have time to think."

I shrug my shoulders, wishing my brother was here but at the same time acknowledging that I already knew he wouldn't be. Not today. Not with the Games starting for real tomorrow.

"Are you going to see sponsors as well?" I ask. "I'm suddenly feeling slightly redundant."

"You can come with me if you want. I'm not going to see many sponsors though. I'm going to see Phoebe."

Phoebe did agree to sponsor our tributes, but the way he says that tells me his visit is more likely to be a rebellion matter than Games business. My curiosity must show on my face because he laughs as he gets up.

"Does that look mean you're coming with me?"

"You know it does," I reply, following him from the room.

"Good. You can tell me all about the people you bumped into when you were downstairs."

I turn to look at him then, wondering what in Panem he's talking about, but a short time later I realise. 'Bumped into', he said. There's only one person I bumped into and that was the man who gave me the piece of paper that's still in my pocket. If he knows about that and he's taking me with him to see Phoebe then this all must be something to do with her.

* * *

><p>Phoebe's house is everything I expected it to be. We don't have to go far to get there because it overlooks the City Circle, but as I walk down the path towards the front door, I notice it's as far away from President Snow's mansion as possible. Part of me wants to ask Falco if that was a deliberate choice rather than a coincidence, but I make myself resist and we approach the door in silence.<p>

A uniformed servant shows us into a large sitting room and I try not to look too awestruck. However other than my visits to the president, which will forever haunt my nightmares, I've never been inside any of the buildings that occupy the most expensive and desirable area of the Capitol so I'm not sure if I succeed. At least I have time to get over it before Phoebe arrives.

"Falco," calls an unfamiliar voice as the door suddenly flies open. "How are you?"

"Very busy," he replies as we both turn to face the man and woman who now stand before us. "You know how it is."

"Of course," says the man.

He looks about my age, tall and slender with Phoebe's red hair, so I assume he must be her son. And that means the younger woman by his side must be Phaedra, her daughter. She's tall and well-built for a Capitolian girl, and she looks nothing like her mother.

"What is she doing here?" she asks, flicking her wavy brown hair back and scowling petulantly at me.

"_She_ has a name," I snap, suddenly not caring where I am or who I'm talking to. "And while I appreciate how difficult it must be for you to endure having a lowly district girl under your roof, if you find your mother then you'll also find that she's expecting me."

That last part is a wild guess on my part, counting on me having interpreted Falco's earlier comment correctly and being right in thinking the piece of paper in my pocket is destined for Phoebe. He smirks at my response and nods once. It seems I was right.

Phaedra turns her nose up in disgust. "I'm sure she didn't expect you to actually come here."

"Grow up, Phaedra. Or you're out," says Falco, his voice deceptively calm. I can hear the anger hidden under the surface but I'm not sure Phoebe's daughter can. "There's no room for children."

"I'll go and find Mother," interrupts the young man who I think is called Phoenix. "Have a seat while you wait. Both of you," he continues, looking at Falco and I after a pointed glare at his sister.

I do just that, resisting the temptation to put my feet on the table to annoy Phaedra. I can almost hear Satin's voice in my mind and I know exactly what she'd say. 'We are not inferior to them, little sister, and the only way to make them start to believe it is to act like their equals at all times.'. For that reason I force myself to smile sweetly at my obnoxious host, sitting straight-backed on the heavily padded but still uncomfortable chair and wishing my sister could be here to witness my restraint.

Phaedra stares back at me, peering at me like I'm of another species, and I want nothing more than to teach her a few things about proper manners in a way I'm sure Ursala would approve of. I think Falco senses that because he very deliberately sits between us, trying to keep the Capitolian woman talking so she doesn't say anything else to me.

"Shouldn't you be at the Training Centre?" asks Phoebe as she glides into the room with her son close behind her.

"Glimmer and Marvel are with their prep teams," I reply, speaking with a confidence I don't really feel and hoping she won't start talking to me like her daughter does. "There'd be nothing I could do even if the stylists would let me."

"Did you receive the details of the money I promised you for them?" she continues, making me breath a silent sigh of relief.

"I did," I reply. "Thank you. I have a card here that confirms the details."

She smiles knowingly as I reach into my pocket and pull out the card, making sure that the letter Heavensbee's servant passed to me is carefully enclosed. She extends her hand to take it, putting it in her own pocket without opening it. I watch Phaedra out of the corner of my eye, noticing how closely she observes us, how she seems to know that exchange wasn't what it appeared to be.

"Can I have a look at that, Mother?" she asks.

"Not right now," replies Phoebe through gritted teeth, her annoyance that her daughter doesn't seem to have grasped the concept of extreme subterfuge more than a little obvious. "Will you stay for lunch?" she continues, turning to Falco and I.

"We can do," answers Falco. "But we'll have to go back to the Training Centre soon. Seneca Crane's assistant wants to speak to me."

"Why?" I say immediately. "What for?"

"I don't know," he replies. "He didn't say in his letter and the messenger didn't know. My…sources tell me it's something to do with the review board."

I look questioningly at him but he says nothing more so we obediently follow Phoebe into the dining room. Phoenix comes with us but Phaedra quickly leaves, telling her mother she's going out to lunch with friends. I can't say that I'm sorry to see her go and the remaining time we spend at the house is a lot nicer in her absence.

* * *

><p>As the time for us to start getting ready for the interviews approaches, we make our way back to the Training Centre and I wait in the entranceway, watching various Victors, escorts, reporters and photographers rushing around as the whole of the Capitol waits for the Games to begin.<p>

"You're supposed to be upstairs," says a very familiar voice from behind me.

I spin around to see Felix standing a short distance away with Charis behind him, one of the black garment bags I've seen countless times draped over her arm. She ignores it as she flies towards me, flinging her arms around my neck and nearly suffocating me in a mass of scarlet-red curls.

"I've missed you, Cashmere," she says. "I've really missed you."

"But you only saw me a few days ago, Charis," I reply when I finally extricate myself from her surprisingly strong grip. "I saw you before the Opening Ceremony at the Remake Centre."

"But that was _ages ago_," she says, looking apologetically at Felix when she notices the crumpled mess that I'm sure used to be the dress I'm meant to be wearing tonight.

"She doesn't change," he tells me amusedly. "She keeps telling me that I'd miss the old her if she did but I'm not convinced."

I laugh, secretly thinking that Charis is the one who knows the truth. Felix has worked at the Grand Hall ever since he finished dressing me for my Victory Tour and over the years he's gradually taken all three of my former prep team with him. They're his most loyal employees and I think he'd be as lost without them as they would be without him.

"What are you doing here?" repeats my stylist. "You really are supposed to be upstairs."

"I'm waiting for Falco," I reply, my earlier anxiety returning at the change of subject. "He had to go and see Seneca Crane's assistant about something."

He looks at me curiously then but he doesn't ask any more questions. The three of us stand there waiting together, Felix checking his watch every ten seconds and Charis prattling on about Callista's new boyfriend while I stare nervously towards the door, hoping to see Falco returning.

Just as Felix begins to convince me that I really do have to go upstairs to change, Falco finally appears, his eyes meeting mine as soon as he walks inside.

"We have to talk," he says. "But not here. It's too quiet." I nod, scanning the massive entrance hall and seeing how many people there are to overhear our conversation. "Not that it matters really," he continues. "It'll be all over the city in a couple of hours."

"What will be?" I ask, but he doesn't answer me until we have gone all the way up to Level One and he has pulled me into the dining room, leaving Felix and Charis to find one of the spare bedrooms to use as my dressing area.

"They wanted to speak to me about Glimmer," he says, immediately making me panic.

"Why?" I reply, not having the first idea about why they'd be so interested in an individual tribute.

"Did you see her district token?"

"Yes. She had a ring. She said it was her aunt's."

"It was. But her aunt didn't get it in District One. It was Capitol-made, or part of it was at least. The part that involves the gemstone twisting and transforming into a needle-sharp point tipped with poison. A member of the review board had seen one before. That's how they knew."

"What?" I ask incredulously. "That's impossible."

"Not when Glimmer's aunt was a Hunger Games Victor named Magnificence. She was showered with jewellery when she became a Victor, you know that, and she had friends as well as enemies and would-be patrons."

"Did Glimmer know?"

"I don't know. Apparently they sent someone up here to question her. Auriel wasn't happy because he was trying to get her ready for tonight and he made such a fuss that they didn't stay for long. She denied everything and they couldn't prove she was lying but she lost the ring. The review board have confiscated it."

"I'll talk to her," I say eventually, furious with myself that I failed to make the connection between Glimmer and Magnificence from the first second my tribute girl told Falco her name when she stood on the stage on reaping day.

"It isn't worth it, Butterfly. She hasn't got the ring now so there's nothing you can do."

"But she could have told me. She _should _have told me."

"Would you have told Lace if it'd been you?"

"That's different. Lace hates me. She would probably have told the officials herself."

"And what would you have done?"

"I don't know. Tried to think of a way for her to keep it."

"I wouldn't have let you," he replies. "It'd be a death sentence if they discovered you'd knowingly done something like that."

"She has to live, Falco. Gloss needs her to live so she has to live."

"Gloss needs to see who she really is," he replies flatly.

"That's not fair," I snap back, pushing away the nagging voice in my mind that tells me he's got a point. "He loves her. Or at least he thinks he does."

"You said it," he says. "But we'll fight to keep her alive and we'll fight for the boy as well. That's what we're here for."

"I don't want to go back in that room again," I say, suddenly thinking of the massive computer screens and the deafening noise of the Control Room, of the feeling of total powerlessness as I have no choice but to wait to see if my tributes live or die.

"I know. But you have to. You have to fight for them. You have to stay with Gloss in case…in case he needs you."

"He always needs me," I reply, pretending I don't know what he really means is 'in case Glimmer's cannon fires'. "As much as I need him."

"Cashmere! Cashmere!" comes a high-pitched screech from somewhere further down the corridor. Charis. It's time for me to get ready for the interviews. I can't put it off any more, no matter how much I might want to.

"She'll come to you if you don't hurry up and go to her," says Falco, walking towards the door.

I sigh and follow him, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him before quickly heading in the direction Charis's voice seemed to come from. If I'm going to face the City Circle then I can't do it wearing the same clothes I've had on all day. Felix would never forgive me.

* * *

><p>I look at the clock above the fireplace for what feels like the hundredth time. If we don't go downstairs soon then we really will be late for the interviews and I don't even want to think about what the consequences of that might be. So where is Glimmer? Her style team took her into her rooms as soon as we walked through the door and that was hours and hours ago. So where is she?<p>

It's starting to go dark outside before I finally decide I can't wait any longer. I push myself quickly to my feet before I can change my mind and walk out of the dining room towards where I know my tribute girl disappeared. However before I get there I'm confronted by Glimmer's very extrovert and incredibly loud stylist.

Falco told me once that his real name is actually Paulinus, but years and years ago he dyed his skin a bright and vivid gold and so people gave him the nickname of Auriel, which apparently means golden in an ancient language I can't remember the name of. I doubt that more than a handful of people remember his real name at all now and he certainly doesn't go by it on the television and in the newspapers.

He walks quickly towards me, shouting for his assistants at the same time as telling nobody in particular that they have no idea what they're supposed to be doing. I can't help thinking that he could be right there, because from what I can see, when Callista left to start working for Felix after last year's Games, her replacement became the fifth member of District One's prep team to be chosen based upon who they know rather than what they know.

"Cashmere!" he shouts, his heavily accented voice almost deafening despite the short distance between us. "Cashmere, you have to come this way! Quickly!"

When he sees I'm following him, he turns back the way he came and disappears through the doorway to the small sitting room that separates Glimmer's bedroom from the main corridor. When I peer inside he says nothing and merely points towards the next door.

"I've been styling for your district for seven years," he says when I raise my eyebrows questioningly. "I almost managed to convince myself that District One was a cut above the savage, uncivilised ways of the rest of the districts, but it seems I was wrong."

I force myself not to react to the insult, knowing better than to answer back to a Capitolian with as many connections as Auriel, and instead I turn away, sweeping past him and into Glimmer's room, barely pausing to knock on the door.

"Glimmer?" I call when I can't immediately see her. "Glimmer, where are you?"

"Leave me alone," comes a muffled voice from the bathroom. "I'm not going downstairs."

"Glimmer, you have to," I reply, walking over to the door. "Are you worried about the interview?" I ask, not believing for a second that a woman with her intelligence and self-control could be, but also feeling at a total loss for what else to say. In the end it doesn't matter because I get no response anyway.

The bedroom door opens again and Auriel appears, glaring at me impatiently. As I have done every time I've seen him since Opening Ceremony night, I resist the urge to laugh at how ridiculous his green spiky hair looks and shake my head instead, hoping he will get the hint and leave. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't.

"Have you any idea how long it took me to design that dress?" he wails, sounding more like a sulky child than Victory ever has. "I will not have tonight ruined by that stupid girl."

"Auriel, you're not helping," I reply, forcing myself not to add that if it wasn't for 'that stupid girl' then he wouldn't even be here. He stares speechlessly at me in response so I decide to try a different tactic. "Why don't you wait for me outside? You're far too important to be dealing with something like this so let me help you."

As I predicted, my second attempt is considerably more successful than my first and he disappears almost as if by magic, still shouting for the prep team.

"Glimmer, he's gone now. It's just me. Open the door."

Just as I'm seriously considering going to fetch Gloss, the door clicks open and swings silently inwards. I take a step forwards, my eyes meeting Glimmer's for a split second before she turns away, ducking her head so her hair falls across her face in two golden curtains.

What I'm guessing Auriel dares to refer to as a dress is made from the same mesh material I remember Narissa wearing on the night the Capitol celebrated Gloss's victory when he won the Games. However this version is gold rather than silver and does a lot less to preserve Glimmer's modesty than the Capitolian woman's did hers.

"They can't kill me, Cashmere. It's too late for them to replace me."

"Glimmer, please. I've seen a lot more of this place than you have. You think you know how it works but you don't. There are people here who have the power to make the likes of you and me do whatever they want us to, and there's nothing we can do about it. This is the biggest show in Panem. They want you to get on that stage so they will make you get on that stage, no matter what they have to do."

"But…" she replies, losing control in a way I didn't think her capable of. "Look at me. I can't go on television like this. I can't bear the shame."

I do as she says and look at her, all the time trying to decide what I would have done if Felix had dressed me like this when it had been my turn for my three minutes in the spotlight. The Cashmere who hadn't known the arena would have held her head high and walked straight-backed onto that stage, looking each and every one of them directly in the eye. I wouldn't have liked it, it's true, but I'd have done it all the same. But Glimmer isn't like me. She is very beautiful and she knows it, but despite that, she's very reserved and almost shy in many ways. She certainly isn't the type to willingly allow others to parade her around half-naked in front of the entire nation.

"You are beautiful, Glimmer," I tell her, not at all sure that what I say won't be the wrong thing entirely. Once again I wish Gloss was here. "Remember that and do what you have to do. You have no reason to feel shame."

"I should just take it off," she says, plucking angrily at the sheer golden fabric. "That's what they really want and we both know it. They could at least have the decency to admit it."

For a few seconds my eyes lock with hers but then I have to look away. Compared to the Glimmer I'm used to, the woman who has been the epitome of self control in virtually any situation, I almost don't recognise her. I certainly don't know what to say and I'd never admit it but she intimidates me more than Dahlia ever did. She turns to look at herself in the mirror and then quickly turns away again. I look at my watch and the clock is still ticking.

"Our audience won't wait forever, you know," calls Auriel through the firmly closed door. I see him try the handle and immediately feel relief that I thought to push the lock across. The look in Glimmer's green eyes screams murder.

"Don't move," I say to her, realising I'm out of my depth here and knowing that even though I'm not at all sure I want to, there's something I must do. I might not believe she loves him, but I do believe that she respects him and she listens to him. That means he has more chance of getting her onto that stage than I do.

"Don't worry," she replies as I move to the door and reach for the bolt, "I'm not going anywhere."

I open the door only as much as I need to so I can squeeze through, wincing when I catch the lace of my dress on the handle as I do. Felix will have to kill me later and I'm sure he will, but there's nothing I can do about it now. I pull the wide black belt down over the tear and hope nobody will notice it's a bit lower than it's supposed to be.

"Are we finally going?" asks a frantic-looking Auriel as soon as he sees me. He immediately looks behind me for Glimmer and then visibly deflates before my eyes when she doesn't appear.

"You are. I need you to do something. Where's Verity gone?" I reply, thinking how I couldn't wait to be rid of the leader of Glimmer's prep team earlier and now I'm wishing she was still here.

If it wasn't for the situation then I would laugh at the expression of utter incredulity I get in response to my words. I half expect Auriel to begin ranting about how district people like me have no right to even think of issuing him with orders so I speak again before he gets the chance to start.

"Seriously," I say. "Our reasons might not be the same but we both want Glimmer to lead the tribute line onto the stage tonight so you have to listen to me. Go and find Verity, send her downstairs and tell her to find my brother."

"And what's your brother going to do?" replies Glimmer's stylist dubiously.

"I realise I'm asking the impossible but just trust me. I don't think it's ever happened before and I doubt it will happen again, but right now we both want the same thing. Please."

He shakes his head, making the green spikes which are all that remains of his hair sway, but then he swiftly vanishes, shouting for Verity as he goes. I turn back and return to the bathroom before he's even left the room, feeling both surprised and relieved when I find Glimmer hadn't locked the door behind me. We stand in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other, until a few minutes later there is a soft knock on the door.

Glimmer snaps at me as soon as I reach towards the door, telling me to leave it, but I ignore her. She glares at me but as soon as she sees Gloss, it's suddenly like I'm not even there. He steps towards her, his eyes locked with hers the whole time despite her outfit, and just for a short time, I'm glad I didn't try to convince him she doesn't truly love him. He whispers something to her that I don't catch, every inch of him willing her to listen and to walk out of this room no matter how she feels, but she only shakes her head in response. He reaches to push her hair back behind her shoulders so she can't hide behind it, so she has to confront both him and the reality of the situation, and suddenly I have to walk away.

I close the door behind me and climb up onto Glimmer's bed to wait, remembering the time when it had been mine. The white curtains are still the same and when I look to the side I can almost see Falco sitting on top of the covers like he did every night once I'd left the arena. I wish he was here now. I wish I had someone familiar to help me deal with this.

I jump when the bathroom door slowly swings open and Gloss appears. He walks towards me, and I sigh deeply when I see Glimmer following closely behind him. She looks so unhappy that despite our differences over her relationship with my brother, I suddenly want to take her place and do her interview for her. I shudder at the thought of the Capitol audience staring at her with their hungry eyes and find myself standing almost protectively in front of her when Auriel bursts into the room, reaching towards her as if he's going to drag her to the City Circle while he has the chance.

She stands her ground, staring unblinkingly at him in a way that gives me a good idea of what the other tributes will see when the starting gong sounds in the arena tomorrow, but she doesn't take another step forwards. My eyes find Gloss's and he doesn't have to speak for me to understand. I fall back so I'm standing on her left side and he does the same to stand at her right. He takes her one hand and a split second later I hesitantly do the same with the other. Part of me expects her to push me away but she doesn't. Her grip is surprisingly strong as we finally walk forwards and she doesn't let go until the lift doors slide open and we can see the City Circle lights through the Training Centre doors.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Real life got in the way and I missed another week but I hope you're still reading. Spare a minute to reassure me you're still there if you can...<strong>_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

However tightly Glimmer clung to my hand on the way down to the Training Centre's main entrance, she lets go well before there's a chance of anyone else seeing us. As soon as the lift doors slide open she strides ahead, her head held high and her face totally emotionless. There is no room here for the part of her that needs to hold her mentor's hand for comfort.

Marvel follows her, and then Gloss, Falco and I follow wordlessly behind him. Everyone stops to stare at us and there are cameras flashing everywhere, people shouting questions. Some of them are even genuine reporters. If the interviews go well for us then we might make the front pages.

The average Capitolian prizes beauty above all else, and it has never been said that those from my district lack that which they crave. They shout our names and Falco's as well, and even when I'm forcing myself to be objective and to show none of my usual bias, I know he doesn't look out of place. Between the five of us, I'm sure we're a sight to behold.

A uniformed official shows us through the side door that I know from experience opens into a corridor leading behind the stage. There is where we will have to wait until they're ready to begin, but the main problem is that I have to get there first. I shudder as I peer into the near-darkness of the narrow and enclosed space, trying to focus on the sparkle of Glimmer's dress as the sequins reflect what little light there is. Falco reaches for me but stops when Gloss shakes his head.

"That's probably not wise," he says with a lightness I know isn't genuine as he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close. "You know how people talk."

Marvel looks back curiously so I start walking, refusing to let go of Gloss. If I stay close to him then I can just about keep going. If I let go then the arena will come flooding back and I won't be going anywhere but into my worst nightmares. He understands that and pulls me closer rather than pushing me away.

When we reach the end of the corridor we are immediately hit by a wall of noise as we get our first glimpse of the other tributes and their mentors, escorts and stylists. Glimmer finally stops, spinning around on her very high heels so she can look back at Gloss and I.

"Just go," she whispers, looking directly into my brother's eyes even though she addresses both of us. "I can only do this if I'm alone. I need to pretend I'm someone else and I can't if you two are here."

"You can do this, Glimmer," he replies, almost as if he didn't hear what she said. "You can do anything."

She smiles briefly before the mask falls abruptly back into place. The woman who looks at me less than a split second later reminds me of the ice sculptures that have recently become so fashionable here, beautiful to look at but cold and totally emotionless. When my eyes meet hers, all I see is emptiness, like the girl I almost know has gone somewhere far, far away and left only her body behind.

If she was still Glimmer then she'd be telling me in that dry tone of hers that it doesn't matter because they're not interested in her mind anyway, but this isn't really Glimmer so she says nothing. She starts to turn away but stops for the briefest of moments before continuing and walking towards her place at the front of the tribute line. When I look back I see that District Eleven have arrived, the man I now know is called Thresh guiding his tiny district partner through the chaos. Now I know what almost made Glimmer's mask fall.

"Miss de Montfort? Come this way please."

I stare blankly at what feels like the thousandth official I've seen today, ignoring him when he gestures towards the stage with his clipboard.

"Cash," hisses Gloss, reaching for my hand and dragging me after him.

I don't miss the relieved look on the official's face as we leave him behind and walk around the stage as he wanted, heading towards the stand from where we will observe tonight's events from the best seats in the house. It's right alongside the stage and reserved for the most important people, or so they tell us anyway. Anyone with any sense knows it's all for the audience's benefit rather than ours. The stylists sit at the front and then the escorts on the row behind and the mentors on the two rows behind them, all carefully arranged so the cameras can zoom in when necessary and give the crowd the best view. Like most aspects of the Games, even this is planned with military precision and I know better than to sit in the wrong seat.

"I'll go first," says Gloss as we climb the steps to our row, locking his arm and not letting go of my hand so I have to stay slightly behind him.

I understand why when I look up to see Augustus and Vikus from Two are already seated. Gloss carefully puts himself between me and them and I sit beside him, pushing as close as I can and trying not to look at anyone but him and Falco, who sits on the row in front of us. He doesn't dare to look back at me when we're in a place where the cameras see and hear everything, but I can somehow sense that he wants to.

"She hates this," says Gloss, leaning down to whisper in my ear and turning towards me so the cameras can't see his face. I instantly know he means Glimmer. "She hated it even before that imbecile put her in that dress," he continues, seemingly unable to stop himself from glaring viciously at the back of Auriel's head at the thought.

"But she has no choice," I reply, also turning towards him so nobody will be able to work out what I'm saying. "She knows what she has to do. She'll do it because she has to."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will."

"You mean your tribute girl?" interrupts Augustus. "She will what? I'd really love to know."

"You never will," I snap back, gripping Gloss's wrist and deciding it would probably have been safer to sit by District Two myself when the look I see in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what Augustus is thinking.

However much to my relief, my brother doesn't get chance to say or do anything because the twenty-four spotlights that had previously been focussed on the tributes' chairs begin to flash and spin across the stage. Then everything goes black before abruptly lighting up again as the deafeningly loud music booms out around the City Circle. It's time. The moment the Capitol's been waiting for has arrived.

* * *

><p>Even from the very first moment Glimmer sets foot on the stage, not a hint of any of the emotions I've seen over the past couple of hours shows on her face or in her body language. She leads the tribute line up the stairs and along the semi-circle of chairs with her back straight and her head held high, smiling coyly at the cameras like she knows a secret the people watching don't. I'm not sure whether to admire her incredible acting skills or feel sorry for the boy who has to follow her.<p>

When Clove follows Marvel up the steps and onto the stage one of the reasons she attracts my attention more than most of the others is that she seems taller than usual. I study her closely, quickly realising it must be because her dress is so long that it covers the massively high heels she is doubtlessly wearing. I'd never guess from the way she walks.

I stare at her face and even from this distance I recognise what I've come to think of as the 'District Two' look in her eyes. Ursala has it, as did Dahlia, Corvinus, Megaera and virtually every tribute to leave there since. It's a look that gives me the impression she's waiting for someone or something to attack, that she's always on her guard. Unlike Glimmer and Marvel, she stares straight ahead and doesn't look at the crowd or the cameras. Neither does Cato. He stares resolutely at her, not even breaking his gaze to blink.

The other tributes also soon appear on the stage and receive varying responses from the audience. Most of them blend into one after a while and very few catch my eye. The girl from Five because of her vivid red hair and electric blue dress, the boy from Ten because of his crippled foot and limp, and then the man from Eleven, the man who seems unable to completely prevent his attention from drifting to Glimmer.

If I hadn't specifically been watching him then I wouldn't have noticed, but I was, and that means I see the way he looks at her before he abruptly remembers where they are and turns away. Glimmer doesn't look at him, not even once, but rather than making me think she doesn't care, it just makes me understand exactly how much of herself she left behind when we left the Training Centre. She looks at Gloss briefly and out of the corner of my eye I see him smile even as my heart sinks and I feel I could cry inside. As I suspected all along, the Glimmer the Capitol sees is more capable of having feelings for my brother than the real Glimmer who most people never even know exists.

The crowd shouts and cheers easily as much as they did for the ever-popular districts One, Two and Four when Katniss Everdeen sets a gold sandaled foot on the stage, her sequined dress catching the light like a candle flame.

"All hail the Girl on Fire," says Augustus mockingly, his voice barely audible over the noise that fills the City Circle.

"It's smoke, not fire," replies Vikus harshly. "Smoke, mirrors and a talented stylist. She'll come to nothing in the arena and they'll forget her as quickly as they decided they loved her."

I say nothing but look from Vikus to Katniss and then to her stylist, who sits on the very end seat of the front row. He's easily the most unassuming-looking person there. He reminds me of Felix, and when I remember how my stylist helped me, how much sponsorship money his designs helped me win, it's suddenly a lot more difficult for me to be as blasé as my fellow mentor about the girl who seems destined to steal the show for the fourth time.

* * *

><p>This year Caesar Flickerman's hair, eyelids and lips are pale blue, a complete contrast to both last year's blood red and the lime green I remember from the year of my own Games. When he bounces onto the stage as soon as the last tribute has taken their seat, he steals the attention of virtually every person watching. Though I find it difficult to keep my eyes on Caesar, I swiftly forget all about the girl from the coal district as Glimmer's moment in the spotlight gets closer and closer.<p>

As has become traditional, Panem's most famous presenter spends a few minutes telling his usual jokes, but a nod from a carefully concealed official at the foot of the stage is enough to make him get on with the matter in hand and start the interviews for real. Before I know it, Glimmer is making her way towards the centre of the stage and shaking hands with Caesar.

The first thing he does is remark on her beauty and I feel Gloss freeze with tension beside me in response. I know what he's thinking because I'm thinking the same thing. I'm thinking that I want nothing more than to cover her from head to foot in thick black wool so they can't stare at her, so they can't picture her as a Victor enslaved by the president.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur and all I can really remember is that she doesn't put a foot wrong the whole time. Just as it was when she made her way forward to take her place at the front of the tribute line earlier, if I hadn't known for certain how much she hates the dress and the role she has to play, I would never have guessed.

Marvel follows her and I barely hear his name announced as the crowd continues to cheer for Glimmer long after she's returned to her seat. To his credit, he does what he has to do and maintains his arrogant confidence when he responds to every question Caesar asks him. The less forgiving part of me says that he isn't exactly having to act, but the rest of me is happy to clap along with the rest as he makes way for Clove. It isn't easy to perform when the whole nation is watching, I know that better than most, and he managed to. He did well, he did what he had to do. He has earned my support and I'm more determined than ever that he will have it in the arena, regardless of what my brother feels for his district partner.

* * *

><p>The rest of the interviews that follow could almost have been scripted, with everyone doing more or less what would be expected. That is until we get to District Twelve.<p>

When Katniss Everdeen steps up to the centre of the stage and almost nervously shakes Caesar's hand, the crowd's anticipation is almost tangible. The only thing she's actually done personally to catch their attention is volunteering for her sister, but when she comes from a district with only one surviving Victor that's never once had a volunteer in the history of the Games, it seems that's enough, for now at least.

She copes well enough with her interview and when Caesar quickly and easily helps her along, the crowd are soon laughing along with them. She stands and twirls for them, showing off her magnificent dress and seeming like a totally different person to the quiet and scowling girl Glimmer described. She suddenly looks very young and fragile as Caesar puts his arm across her shoulders, not at all like someone who scored an eleven in training.

Her interviewer asks her how she did it but she reveals nothing. I turn to my left and catch a glimpse of my own frown reflected on Gloss's face. District Twelve are still up to something. I couldn't begin to guess what, but I know they're planning a way to surprise us all because none of this adds up.

The boy, the Girl on Fire's district partner, seems charming and humorous and Caesar is clearly enjoying interviewing him as much as the people in the audience are enjoying listening to them. I'm already looking at the steps that lead off the stage, trying to decide if we can make it back to the Training Centre before the reporters catch up with us.

"You get Marvel and I'll get Glimmer," I whisper to Gloss, knowing nobody will hear me over the laughter of the crowd. He looks at me, his expression telling me he'd rather it be the other way around. "Don't give them an excuse to gossip, Gloss. It doesn't take a lot."

He nods and is about to reply when every person in the City Circle abruptly falls silent. A fraction of a second later they start whispering to each other, the sound reaching me as a low and insistent buzzing. That combined with the look on Caesar's face tells me it's obviously a reaction to something Peeta said.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says the presenter as I look around, attempting to find out or guess what the boy from the coal district said. The cameras are all zoomed in on a very embarrassed-looking Katniss.

"What did he say?" I hiss, reaching down to rest my hand on Falco's shoulder.

"That he loves her," he replies, briefly turning around to face me before quickly returning his focus to the stage, where Caesar and his interviewee continue to discuss the revelation that will surely make the majority of Panem forget that the twenty-two other interviews ever happened.

The buzzer that signals the end of Peeta's interview sounds far too quickly for the audience but they cheer for the boy all the same. I try not to notice how loud they are, how they obviously favour him and his contradictory district partner over the rest, but I can't help it.

I look around the semi-circle of tributes and most of them appear even tenser than they did before, no doubt reacting to how District Twelve have played the crowd so well that the odds are even more in their favour than they were before. Thresh is staring anxiously at his child of a district partner, who in turn can't seem to keep her eyes off Katniss.

My heart skips a beat when I see Clove put a hand on either side of her chair, looking almost like a cat ready to pounce on her prey, her grey eyes narrowed with a hatred that seems all for Peeta Mellark. She starts to move but Cato reaches out with lightening quick reflexes and grasps her wrist with bruising force as soon as she does, saying something I can't begin to hear over the roar of the crowd.

"Let's go," says Gloss, gripping my wrist a lot more gently than Cato did Clove's. "After that, I don't think they'll even notice us leave."

As soon as the anthem finishes we get up and make our way to where the tributes will leave the stage, closely followed by numerous other mentors and stylists, who seem to follow our lead. By the time we get there most of the tributes have gone, obviously in a rush to escape the Capitolians, and I can see no sign of either Glimmer or Marvel.

"They must have already gone up," says Falco as he moves to stand behind me, stopping a lot closer than he normally would as the crowd push us together.

Every bit as distracted by Falco's presence as I would have been eight years ago, I scan the vast entranceway one last time before following him into the lift and dragging Gloss behind me. I notice immediately that there's a tribute girl there already, her vivid red hair standing out despite the equally eye-catching electric blue of her dress. District Five. She presses the button for Level One before any of us can reach for the panel and quickly turns her back on us to stare out of the clear glass walls at the chaos of the City Circle outside.

"Good luck for tomorrow," says Falco to the girl once the doors close.

He watches her closely and I recognise the look in his eyes instantly. It's the look he has when he's working, the look he has when he's dealing with rebellion business. He's testing her, judging how she reacts, and I find myself holding my breath as I wait for her response.

"Luck doesn't win the Games," she replies, looking back at him over her shoulder without fully turning around.

I'd put her at about fifteen but she looks younger and is even smaller than Katniss. However despite that, there's something about her expression and the way she holds herself that makes me think she hasn't given up hope of joining her district's very short list of Victors just yet. That reply only confirms it.

"Sometimes it does," says Falco, looking steadily but not unkindly down at her.

Her expression changes and becomes more uncertain, as if she's trying to work out his motive for speaking to her and how she should answer.

"Brawn wins the Games," she says evenly. "Or public support," she continues, her strange amber eyes drifting in my direction. "If the Victor has neither of those things then they usually win with intelligence and spend the rest of their lives listening to it be referred to as luck."

Falco laughs in response. "I think I know which group you'd fall into," he says, and for the first time the girl looks down at the floor, perhaps feeling she's revealed more about herself to her competition than she should have.

* * *

><p>"Where are they? I thought they were in front of us."<p>

I quickly check all of the rooms, looking for Glimmer and Marvel even though I already know they're not here. I was so sure they'd already come upstairs but I was obviously wrong.

"We need to go back then," says Gloss, already heading towards the main door.

"Don't," replies Falco, sharply enough to make my brother stop dead and look accusingly back at him. "If either of you go back then you'll never get away from the reporters and neither will Marvel and Glimmer. Stay here and wait. They'll be in the arena this time tomorrow so if they can't fend off idiots like those reporters then we're all in trouble."

I shrug my shoulders and start walking towards the dining room again, but not before I see Gloss scowl at Falco. The closer we get to the arena, the more withdrawn and angry he becomes, and I'm sure seeing the way some of the people in the audience were staring at Glimmer hasn't helped. Sometimes when I look at him, I'm reminded of the man I watched from the Control Room seven years ago, and that's what makes me retrace my steps and take his hand, dragging him down the corridor after me as if that will stop him from becoming the person he was in the arena.

"She did well," says Falco as we all sit down, squeezing onto the two-seater sofa with me in the middle. I don't have the energy or the inclination to object so I fidget until I'm vaguely comfortable, laughing when Gloss rolls his eyes at me and smiles, happy to see my real brother return even if it's only for a short time.

"I'll kill Auriel," he snarls, the anger abruptly returning.

"Why?" answers Falco. "For emulating what he's grown up knowing and seeing? Sex sells, Gloss, everyone knows that. He probably thought he was doing Glimmer a favour."

Gloss snarls again. "Well he wasn't."

I sigh and turn to him as much as I can, which unfortunately isn't that far because of the way I'm sitting. "It's over now. It's in the past. The arena is the future so we have to focus on that. Please."

"Then perhaps you can explain District Twelve to me, Cash. Because they're the only ones anyone's going to remember after that stunt they pulled. What's the point of one tribute declaring their love for another? Aren't they capable of understanding the concept of having only one survivor?"

"You answered your own question," I reply soothingly. "Who is everyone talking about? District Twelve. They've had enough publicity this year that they might even get some real sponsorship. And then they might have a chance."

"But why would the boy do that? He's ruining his own chances."

"Maybe he really does love her," interjects Falco.

"Don't be ridiculous," replies Gloss. "That girl doesn't care about him. You could tell by the look on her face."

"That wasn't what he said, Gloss," I say, hating the irony of what I'm about to say but deciding to say it anyway. "Just because he loves her, that doesn't automatically mean she loves him back."

"But it isn't supposed to be like that. District Twelve aren't supposed to have a chance."

"Vikus thinks they'll both die in the bloodbath. Maybe they will."

"Who will?" asks a voice from outside a split second before Marvel peers around the door.

"District Twelve," I reply. "Do you want to sit down?" I continue, feeling that I should make the effort and not leave him on his own the night before the arena.

He shakes his head. "I need some time to think. I'd rather be on my own."

"Have you seen Glimmer?"

He shakes his head again. "Not since we left the stage. I don't know where she is."

Gloss waits until Marvel closes the door softly behind him and then quickly gets up before I can think to stop him.

"I'm not leaving her down there."

"Gloss, think about what you're doing," says Falco. "Don't make it worse for both of you."

"Would you leave Cash?" he replies, leaving the room when he sees he's won the argument because there's nothing Falco can say in response.

Part of me wants to go as well, to make sure that Gloss doesn't do anything stupid, but the rest of me can see the sense in deciding not to. I shuffle around on the chair, swinging my legs up onto the empty side and leaning back against Falco. He reaches for one of the many newspapers that are lying on the table, glancing at the front page story about Glimmer's lethal district token before turning to another section and scrutinising it intently.

"Phoebe's been busy," he says after a while, holding the paper out so I can see it.

"You know she's never happy unless she's trying to make more money," I reply, raising my eyebrows to tell him I know exactly why. She's been funding a large part of the rebellion since it was resurrected after Achillea's death.

"Every little helps," he says, smiling in understanding.

I look away, resting my head back on his shoulder. Despite everything we've been through, I still want nothing more than for him to leave it all alone, to let other people fight for freedom in his place. He sighs and I can tell he knows what I'm thinking, however before he can try to express that in words anybody listening in via hidden microphones and recorders won't be able to comprehend, the outside door clicks closed and I know Glimmer's back.

"Where have you been?" I ask when the dining room door swings open and she appears.

I sit around so I can see her properly, and when my eyes drift to the clock above the fireplace I notice well over half an hour has passed since Marvel returned.

"The lift got stuck," she replies from where she still stands in the doorway, her arms tightly folded across her chest, which is barely concealed by her almost translucent gold dress.

I raise my eyebrows in suspicion so she shrugs her shoulders and walks further into the room. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly when I flop back onto the sofa, half leaning against its padded back and half leaning against Falco. She might have worked out at least some of the truth about her Capitol escort and I, but that doesn't lessen the shock she clearly feels but is trying to hide. I hold her gaze steadily as I rest my head on Falco's shoulder. She's a daughter of District One. She's used to keeping secrets.

Her already obvious discomfort is even more pronounced when Falco looks up from his newspaper to focus his attention on her instead, and she gets as close as I've ever seen her get to shuffling with embarrassment despite how he looks away virtually immediately. I take pity on her and pull a blanket off the sofa, holding it out in her direction.

"I'd rather go and change if I can," she says with a slight smile.

I nod and she turns on her heel, darting from the room as quickly as her legs will take her. My first thought is that I hope she moves that fast at the Cornucopia tomorrow morning.

"I hear you bought that dress," says Falco, turning to look down at me as soon as the door closes behind Glimmer.

I nod without looking at him. It's true what he says, though I don't think my plan was all that successful. Glimmer and I saw the dress for the first time when Auriel brought to Level One this morning, and when I saw the barely concealed horror and disgust she was feeling, my first thought was to try to make her feel more confident about wearing it by buying it myself. However Glimmer's far too intelligent to fall for something like that and therefore still ended up locking herself in the bathroom several hours later.

"It doesn't seem like your usual style," continues Falco, something in his voice making me think he's trying to distract me from my thoughts.

"I'm not going to actually wear it, am I?" I reply incredulously before I finally look up at him. When I do, his teasing expression tells me all I need to know.

"Not in public, no…"

"You're impossible!" I hiss, not knowing if I'm playing or being serious as I push myself up from the sofa and glare furiously down at him.

He pulls me off my feet almost instantly and I don't struggle for long. Even after everything that's happened since I won the Games, he still has the ability to make me forget it all and see only him. It's at times like this, when I feel like I'm going into the arena myself because I know I'm going to have to take Gloss into the Control Room tomorrow to watch as Glimmer fights for her life, that I welcome the distraction more than ever. I need to forget and if this isn't forgetting then I don't know what is.

* * *

><p>"Where's Glimmer?"<p>

I turn slightly without leaving the comfort of Falco's arms, but then a second later his question properly registers and I remember where we are. This can't happen here. It shouldn't happen here. I shouldn't be weak enough to let it. And what sort of mentor am I if I leave Glimmer on her own tonight?

"I have to go and find her," I say, and he smiles softly in understanding as he gently pushes me away and throws the first item of clothing he can reach firmly in my direction. "This is yours," I tell him, unable to stop myself from laughing like the girl I was ten years ago as I put it back down.

"She won't care. She knows anyway," he replies flatly.

"That's hardly the point, is it?" I say with a smirk as I take the dress he now holds out to me. "That's better," I continue as I pull it over my head, deliberately flicking my hair back before stalking from the room.

His laughter follows me down the corridor and for a split second I'm happy. Then I remember where I'm going.

* * *

><p>My bare feet make no sound on the soft carpet as I walk towards Glimmer's room, thinking that she'll probably have stayed there. However when I get there I find it empty. It's only when I turn back that I notice the door to the dining room is almost closed rather than being wide open like it was when Falco and I left.<p>

As I push the door open, I hesitate. I'm not really sure why but something makes me stop and think. I remember a time years before, when I was the tribute girl rather than the mentor, when Falco had been waiting to take me to his party and I had tried to creep back into the room without him noticing.

Because of that memory I almost expect to see him when I look around the door into the room, but instead I see Glimmer, who sits at the table staring blankly at the opposite wall. When she notices me she jumps to her feet. Then I see what she's wearing and I'm sure my shocked gasp is as audible to her as it is to me.

"Cashmere, what's wrong?" she asks, crossing the room to me and leading me over to one of the massive armchairs by the window.

I don't know what to say so I just sit where she puts me, staring up at her as she stands there wearing my Victory Ceremony dress. It's been several years since I looked at it properly, but the diamond bodice that formed part of Sapphire's Opening Ceremony dress before it was ever mine still sparkles as brightly as I remember.

"Where did you get that dress from?" I ask eventually, trying to keep my voice soft despite my confused and conflicted emotions.

"Gloss," she says, looking ever so slightly guilty even though I can tell she doesn't understand why she should. "Is something wrong?"

I take a deep breath, deciding that nobody will benefit if I make an issue of this tonight. "No, Glimmer, it's fine," I tell her, reaching out to take her hand and pull her onto the chair beside me. Like most things in the Capitol, the chairs are big enough for both of us to comfortably sit side by side.

I turn to look at her stunningly beautiful face and where once she would have glared in response, now she smiles, a half smile that looks more out of sadness than happiness. I suddenly don't know what to say. Putting her in that dress is Gloss's equivalent of standing on the roof of the Training Centre and declaring his undying love for her to the whole of Panem, not that she knows it. He loves her in a way he's never loved another, I know that much as surely as I know he goes to her at night when he thinks everyone else has gone to sleep, but it isn't just the fact she's a tribute that still stops me from feeling anything but unhappiness and regret. I've seen the way she looks at that man from District Eleven who is about to be thrown into the arena with her. There is no comparison, especially not in Gloss's favour.

"So the lift got stuck after the interviews?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me like it always has.

"Yes," she replies. "I don't know why. I thought everything in the Capitol was supposed to be perfect," she continues, the mocking sarcasm I heard in her voice when she spoke of the girl from District Twelve at the training score release abruptly reappearing.

"And you were on your own?" I ask, forcing myself not to shudder at the memories the thought of being stuck in a confined space like that makes me recall.

She looks down at her hands, unable to meet my gaze as she shakes her head. "No. District Eleven was there as well."

From her body language I can immediately tell she doesn't mean the little girl. But then when I think about it, who am I to criticise someone for desiring the forbidden?

"At least you had someone with you," I say, laughing inside at the look of relief on her face that she fails to hide no matter how much she obviously tries to. She looks at me again when she hears the smile in my voice. "You know I hate enclosed spaces."

She nods. "Because of your arena. They were replaying it on the television this morning. I don't know how you coped in there. I wish I knew what mine will be like before tomorrow."

That's as close as I've heard her get to admitting she's frightened about tomorrow, and for the first time I truly see beneath the ice-cold façade she presents to the world. She doesn't seem the type to want someone to lie to her and tell her everything will be fine when we both know it might not be, so I say nothing. When I put my arm across her shoulders she doesn't pull away.

I stroke her golden hair back from her face as she leans into me, noticing how its waves are a lot looser than my virtually identically coloured curls, and eventually she falls asleep with her head resting on my shoulder. As I look closely at her impossibly beautiful face in the mirror on the wall to the side of me, I barely manage to stop myself from shivering.

What will President Snow make her do if she wins? I don't know who he will have to use against her but I've seen the way they look at her. She would suffer the way I did before the stage in the City Circle was even dismantled after her Victory Tour, I'm certain of it. Snow would easily get as much for her as he did for me and probably more.

I pull her closer, part of me thinking I should tell her the truth of what her fate will be and the rest thinking I should say nothing. I want her to live, and not just for my brother's sake, and I know that telling her will stop her from fighting quite so hard for survival in the arena. Her beauty will make her too valuable an asset for her to be given to just anybody, so I tell myself she might be able to deal with it like Ursala does and make the best of her life. Then I have to try and tell myself I believe that. I know deep inside that I don't and I never will.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I thought I'd get into the arena with this chapter, but as usual, it got too long and I had to stop here... For those of you who read A Fox's View, I hope you recognised Lysa as it's been a good while since I last wrote her ;) As ever, feel free to talk to me...<em>**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

It's only just starting to get light when I wake up, and for a second I don't know what stopped me from continuing to sleep even if for some reason I am sitting in a chair rather than lying in a bed. Then I hear the sound of the main door clicking shut and I know. It's time. It's nearly dawn and the Games are about to begin.

I start to stand up, trying to decide if I should go to Glimmer first or if I should attempt to make Auriel wait in the sitting room before he bursts in on her. If I were to be in Glimmer's position then her stylist would be one of the last people I'd choose to see first thing on the morning of the arena.

But I quickly realise I can't move and that instantly makes me open my eyes, as fully alert as I was when I was in the arena. However I soon relax when I look down and see Gloss sitting at my feet with his head resting on my knee. My first thought then is one of relief that he didn't go to Glimmer. I don't think I'd like to be the one to have to drag him from her so the hovercraft can take her away.

"Gloss. Gloss, wake up," I whisper, running my hand softly through his thick dark hair. "Gloss."

He looks up at me, smiling for a split second before he realises why we're both sitting in this corridor. Then when he does, the tension reappears on his face so quickly that it's almost as if it never left. Auriel's loud footsteps and even louder voice drift towards us and my brother's expression darkens even further.

"Go and fetch her," I tell him firmly, dragging his attention back to me. "I'll try and make him wait, but I won't be able to for long, you know that."

He nods and pushes himself to his feet using the arm of the chair, stretching briefly before silently opening the door that leads to Glimmer's room. I get up as well, heading in the opposite direction after one final look back.

"Good morning, Cashmere," calls Auriel as soon as he sees me, making me wonder how he can be so cheerful at a time like this. Then I remember that it really is only a game to him, a game that's making him rich beyond my wildest dreams. "It's time I wasn't here. Where's the girl?"

"The girl has a name," I snap viciously. "And she'll be out in a minute."

"We have a schedule to stick to," he replies, sounding a bit testy now he sees I'm not going to maintain the façade and keep up the false pleasantries. "Lucretia will be here soon and they won't have two hovercrafts leaving at the same time in case the tributes see each other."

I sigh and walk towards him, relieved when he inadvertently allows me to back him into the dining room.

"Like I said, she'll be ready in a minute," I say, looking anxiously behind me and hoping I'm not lying to him.

I'm just about to give up hope of Glimmer ever appearing when the door opens and she walks slowly inside, looking at me rather than at Auriel. She looks pale and clearly hasn't slept, but her eyes are dry. If she shed any tears earlier then she hides it well.

"Are you ready then?" asks Auriel, looking her up and down sceptically. "It really is just as well they allow you time to change. I'm sure you wouldn't want the camera crews to film you looking like that."

I jump to my feet and start to stride towards the stylist, shocked that even a Capitolian can show such little sensitivity, however I don't get far because Glimmer catches my wrist and holds me back.

"It's all right, Cashmere," she says softly. "We know the truth of this and that's what matters."

I relax slightly and she releases me, looking back at Gloss as he moves to stand beside her. When she turns to face him, they don't speak, not even a word. He touches his hand to the side of her face and then he's gone, leaving her standing there staring at the empty space where he used to be.

"We have to go now," insists Auriel, stepping forward and reaching for Glimmer's arm.

For a brief instant she seems not to see or hear him, but then she pulls away before he can touch her, turning her attention back to me. "It's true that I couldn't love him the way he deserved, but I never set out to hurt him."

"I know that," I reply, my voice barely a whisper.

"If…if I don't come back then don't let him waste too much time grieving for me. I'm not worth it."

"He thinks you are," I tell her firmly. "And so do I. I don't want to hear about you not coming back. Remember your promise and don't forget it."

"Keep fighting," she says quietly. "Always keep fighting."

I nod once, trying to stay strong like a good mentor should, but when she smiles at me I know she sees through my act. She reaches out and traces her fingers across the sapphire pendant at my throat before following Auriel out of the room and down the corridor without a backward glance.

I fall back onto the nearest armchair as soon as I hear the door close behind them, knowing I should probably go after Gloss but not feeling able to move. Before I left District One, I promised myself that I wouldn't get attached to the tributes I had to mentor, that I wouldn't allow myself to feel like this when they went into the arena. I should have known I'd break that promise, because if I'm honest with myself then I was always going to.

"Cashmere?"

I jerk upright again in response to the voice, knowing it doesn't belong to one of the two people in the world I will allow to see me with my guard down, and I immediately see Marvel standing in the doorway, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

"I heard voices," he continues as he takes an almost tentative step towards me.

"Glimmer's gone. Lucretia will be here for you in a minute."

He shrugs his shoulders. "The sooner it starts, the sooner it's over."

"Do you want to wait here?" I ask, surprised by the uncertainty I hear in my voice.

He doesn't speak but he walks over anyway, sitting on the sofa beside me but staring resolutely ahead.

"Are you nervous?" I ask eventually, knowing it probably isn't a question he wants me to ask but saying anything to break the silence.

"No," he snaps back immediately. "Yes," he admits a minute later, still not looking at me. "But don't you dare tell anyone."

"What are you going to do about it if I do?" I retort, relieved to get the reaction I was aiming for when he finally turns towards me. "Your secret will die with me," I continue, suddenly serious when I realise he doesn't have a smart answer to my first question like he normally would. That's when I also understand how truthful he was being when he admitted his fear.

"Remember what I told you," says Falco as he walks in and perches on the arm of my chair, looking straight at Marvel. "You can't help being scared but you can stop your opponents from using that fear against you by making sure they don't see it."

"I remember," he says, none of his usual arrogance in his voice.

"Good," replies Falco, and something about even that small exchange tells me that my lover has been a far better mentor to our tribute boy than anyone else. Suddenly I feel hypocritical, thinking I might be as guilty of neglecting Marvel as Lace was of neglecting me. "Because Lucretia's waiting for you in the corridor."

Marvel nods and slowly gets up, his eyes lingering on me for a split second before he turns to Falco. "Are you going to wish me luck?"

"We all wish you luck," he replies. "All three of us."

"Two of you," says Marvel quickly. "Gloss is waiting and hoping for my cannon to fire."

He looks at me then and I look steadily back at him, not quite able to bring myself to try and correct what I know to be the truth. Before I have chance to say anything at all, he's gone and the door is closing softly behind him.

"You were more of a mentor to him than I was," I tell Falco, resting my head on his lap.

"Stand by him in the arena," he replies. "That's when it really matters."

"And if the choice is him or Glimmer?"

"Then you'll have to make that choice when it happens. Until then, I think we've got enough to worry about without inventing scenarios that may never be reality. Where's Gloss?"

"He left. Just before Glimmer did."

"Then you'd best find him if we're going to get to the arena in time."

"We'll be there on time if we go now."

I spin around to face the doorway in time to see my brother step into view, and I recognise the look in his eyes instantly. I smile, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. A bit like Glimmer, he may not like it, but he's decided to fight. He smiles back at me and holds out his hand.

* * *

><p>By the time we get through the hoards of reporters and other random Capitolian onlookers to the Control Room building there are only a few minutes left before the Games start. I shudder at the sight of the imposing dark stone and massive glass doors, remembering how the last time I was here officially was when Gloss was about to go into the arena. Shivering, I glance across at my brother to reassure myself he's still with me, but surprisingly it's Falco who hesitates with me, remaining by my side instead of leading me forwards.<p>

"We have to go," urges Gloss. "I promised her I'd be watching."

"It feels strange to have you here with me," says Falco quietly to me even as he follows Gloss inside, making me abruptly recall that he's been walking through these doors alone for the past six years while I've been forced watch the Games from my hated Capitol apartment. "But it isn't like before," he continues, looking pointedly at my brother to tell me he knows what I'm thinking.

I nod, wanting to take his hand and hating that I can't. "May the odds be ever in our favour," I whisper, wishing I had the courage to say the words in that same mocking tone so everyone could hear.

The entire Control Room blacks out just as we walk through the second set of doors, and the fact I've seen it happen before neither prepares me nor stops me from flying backwards in terror as if I were back in my arena, where sudden darkness and then flashing lights meant nothing but death. I'm back at the first doors and the bright morning sun is shining down on me before I'm able to think rationally enough to make myself stop.

Falco says nothing as he walks over to me, putting his arm across my shoulders and squeezing tightly before leading me back inside. He doesn't need to say anything else, not when he's seen me react that way so many times before.

"Still scared of the dark, de Montfort?" calls a female voice from the far side of the room.

I try to identify who it was but suddenly nobody's looking at me. Everyone's focussed solely on the monitors and television screens as the lights all switch back on and we all see the arena for the first time. My first thought is that it isn't a windowless, enclosed building like mine was or a frozen wasteland like Gloss's. This is something completely different.

The Cornucopia is on an open plain which seems to have a forest on two sides, a lake on one and a void that leads to Panem knows where on the other. The podiums rise up and my eyes quickly find Glimmer because the bright sunlight makes her hair shine like molten gold. Gloss's grip on the control panel in front of him tightens even more, his knuckles turning snow white, and I know he sees her as well.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The main screen in front of me seems to be showing each tribute in turn as Claudius Templesmith's announcement rings out across the whole country. I find myself hypnotised by them and totally unable to look away.

Some of them look resigned to their likely fate, their eyes glazed over as if they're already dead, and some of them look focussed, either on their competition or the contents of the Cornucopia. However all of them, from Cato to little Rue from District Eleven, are trembling on their platforms. Whether through nervous tension, anticipation or outright blind terror, they are all trembling. The Capitol audience will love this. This is why they watch the Games. This is what they've been waiting for.

Both Glimmer and Marvel stare resolutely ahead at the golden horn in front of them, her face blank and emotionless, his a close approximation of his usual arrogant smirk. Falco told him not to let his fear show so it appears he's masking it in the only way he knows how. For once I'm pleased to see his trademark lazy grin.

"There are enough weapons there to arm a squadron of Peacekeepers," observes Marcus from District Five quietly.

"And the others should be scared because our two are planning exactly how they're going to use them," replies Augustus, grinning wickedly at anyone who dares to meet his eyes.

I've never lacked daring so I glare right back at him before turning to the screen once more. I immediately see that he spoke the truth when the camera focuses in on Cato and Clove and their very obvious wordless communication. If I wasn't already convinced that they knew each other before they came to the Capitol then I would be now, because I can see no lack of understanding from either of them despite how their plans are as much of a mystery to the rest of Panem as they ever were.

Then the gong sounds and the chaos begins. I force the images of my own arena's first battle away with difficulty, clutching Gloss's hand under the desk as we watch Marvel racing for the Cornucopia.

"Where is she?" breathes my brother as he leans even closer to the monitor in front of him, searching frantically for Glimmer amidst the carnage.

I can't see her and instead I watch the girl from Five who had spoken to Falco so boldly after the interviews as she darts off into the trees. She was right. She's a smart one and she got away.

"No, no, no!" barks Haymitch Abernathy from the other side of the room, pounding his desk with his fist as he proceeds to call his tribute girl every foul name under the sun when he sees her racing towards the Cornucopia instead of away from it.

The Girl on Fire begins to struggle with another tribute for a backpack the Gamemakers had left on the floor, but she can't see what we can, she can't see the real threat. She can't see Clove racing towards her with a knife already in her hand.

"What did I say?" says Vikus triumphantly. "All that drama and she's dead on the first day."

However it seems he spoke too soon because the next second, Katniss looks up from the backpack and her now dead opponent and her dark grey eyes meet Clove's slightly lighter ones.

She has the sense to flee for her life and she really can run fast, but Clove gives chase, a hatred in her expression that I have rarely seen the equal of. It's only when Cato shouts her name just as she's about to vanish into the trees after her target that she stops. Haymitch immediately reaches for the glass of water by his hand and takes a drink in a way that tells me better than any words that he wishes it was hard liquor.

By now many of the mentors have left their seats to congregate around the biggest screen, perhaps sensing that there is no sponsorship gift they can send to help their tributes at this stage of the Game. Gloss gets up to join them and as soon as I move to stand by his side, the image on the screen changes to focus on Glimmer.

She surveys the chaos around her and then reaches down to pick up two long spears, her green eyes narrowed in concentration as she tucks her sword into her belt. She raises her arm and draws the first weapon back, preparing to release it. A badly concealed whimper from one of District Six's mentors tells me she knows her tribute cannot escape, and seconds later the spear flies through the air to sink into her side.

Glimmer has the second spear raised before the girl even hits the ground, and when a camera zooms in on her bloodstained but still-beautiful face, I can see the tension that abruptly appears as clearly as if she were standing beside me. When the camera pans out again, I immediately understand why. The only viable target for her is the man from District Eleven.

Thresh finishes strapping a pack to his back, his eyes locked with hers, and he doesn't flinch when she drives her arm forwards and releases the spear. I knew before the weapon even left Glimmer's hand that it wouldn't ever find it's target, and sure enough, it misses him by a good couple of metres. They stare at each other for a heartbeat and then she quickly turns away, drawing her sword and racing towards the Cornucopia. He pulls the spear from the ground and disappears into the void that could lead anywhere. Neither of them look back. I try to ignore the shocked gasps that fill the Control Room.

* * *

><p>The bloodbath is over soon after that, most of the tributes with a will to fight getting cut down with lethal efficiency by Cato and Clove, who fight back to back in front of the Cornucopia, and those who are simply slow to flee the carnage being chased down by the rest of the alliance. It isn't long before the only two left fighting are Arturo from Four and Peeta Mellark from Twelve, and virtually every single person left in the Control Room is either on the edge of their seat or hovering in front of the main screen as they wait to see who will win.<p>

"The boy's got courage," says Chaff from Eleven, his voice loud enough for the whole room to hear.

Ordinarily I'd say he was only saying that to make Haymitch, his long-term drinking partner, feel better, but as I watch my screen I decide that for once he speaks the truth.

"He's a traitor. After all he said about his district partner," replies Viola from Five. "And even if he wins that fight then the others will kill him."

"Not if they've got any sense."

"What do you mean?" asks Falco, leaning down to me. I look back at him in surprise. I didn't realise I'd spoken out loud.

However what was going to be my reply comes out as a shocked gasp when Clove takes an almost casual step forwards and sends a knife flying straight into Arturo's heart. A silence that is only broken by the sound of Peeta falling to the floor as the young man from the fishing district collapses onto him suddenly fills the room. Everyone is so stunned that they can't speak, and I see Four's other mentor, a middle-aged woman I barely recognise, looking anxiously across their desk to Finnick. He doesn't spare her so much as a glance. His eyes are empty and expressionless, his jaw set like stone. All I feel is relief that the boy from District Twelve was fighting his tribute and not one of mine.

"What is she doing?" snarls Augustus, pointing viciously at on-screen-Clove as she and Cato stride towards Peeta and the dead boy from the fishing district.

"She's smarter than you are," replies Gloss, his eyes not leaving the image of Glimmer on the monitor in front of him as she quickly follows her allies. His words quickly tell me that he's thinking what I'm thinking even if the other mentors haven't caught on yet.

I hold my breath as Marvel rounds on Clove, clearly furious at her for killing Arturo, who from what I can gather was his closest ally in the arena. 'Don't be stupid', I whisper, repeating the phrase over and over again as he gets closer and closer to the pair from Two.

But then I quickly realise that I needn't have bothered worrying when Clove swats him away with her knife as casually as she would a fly, totally intent on getting to the boy from the coal district. Or maybe I should be worrying after all. If it's that easy for her now then Marvel won't have much chance if she really means it.

"Butterfly, what's going on?"

"I'm surprised you need me to explain," I reply teasingly, but before I can continue, Glimmer does my explaining for me.

"So what can you tell us that will make us spare your life, Lover Boy?" she says, and I look up at Falco in time to see the sudden understanding reflected in his eyes.

"They're going to use him to get Katniss," he says.

"Of course. Why else do you think Clove killed Arturo so early?"

He holds my gaze briefly and then turns back to the screen, watching as Peeta is interrogated by those he's clearly hoping to ally with. Once Cato and Clove make it clear that he's only being allowed to live because they want him to tell them everything he knows about Katniss, he starts talking quickly enough, seeming to realise that is what will win him a place in the alliance. I start to hate him for his seemingly easy betrayal of the one he claimed to love.

* * *

><p>"She spared his life. Why?"<p>

Leaving Gloss to watch Glimmer and Marvel getting ready to start exploring the arena from his position in front of the main screen, I look away from my monitor to find Seeder from District Eleven staring down at me, a mixture of accusation and relief in her golden-brown eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply sharply.

"Don't play stupid with me, de Montfort," she says, her eyes never leaving mine, not even when Gloss silently crosses the room to stand protectively by my side. "Your girl had a clean shot and she didn't miss the first time. The only reason that spear landed where it did was because she wanted it to."

"Perhaps she had something in her eye and couldn't see straight," I reply flatly, being deliberately evasive even though I know the older woman will see right through me. What am I supposed to tell her? The truth?

"Don't expect the same back if they meet again," she says, shaking her head slightly.

"Did I ever give you an indication that I might?"

Seeder shakes her head again and turns away, walking back towards her desk while looking up at the mass of wall-mounted screens. She stops when one of them switches to show an image of her tiny girl tribute as she leaps through the trees and I watch as well. We'd all wondered how such a small and weak-looking child could score so highly, and it seems this is the answer. I follow her progress as she crosses the arena without ever touching the ground until the image switches to her district partner as he makes his way through what looks like a vast grass field. The sight of the spear in his hand makes me think of Glimmer, and then I realise how much I truly want to get her out of there.

When I find her again, she and her allies have just left their camp with as many weapons as they can carry, setting out in search of the other tributes, or so they say anyway. From what I remember from my time in the arena, it's usually a case of moving because nobody can bear the thought of staying still for a moment longer rather than any real desire to kill. What little light still remains reflects off the bow Glimmer wears strapped across her back, and as I watch her struggle through a patch of dense foliage, all I can think is that I hope this arena isn't as full of surprises as mine was.

* * *

><p>I don't realise how long I've been in the Control Room until I reach the second set of glass doors and see the darkness of the night sky. I instinctively look up to see the stars and for a second I wonder why I can't see any. Then I remember where I am. There are no stars in the Capitol, not ones that aren't drowned out by the big city lights anyway.<p>

I walk quickly down the path as all of the hours I've spent watching Glimmer and Marvel fight for their lives catch up with me and leave me so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. And this is only the first day. I would never truly wish for Gloss to be in this place but that doesn't mean I'm not grateful he's here. With Falco out and about in search of sponsors, my brother is probably the only person I'd trust to watch over our tributes and that means he's the only reason I'm going to be getting any sleep at all.

"Fancy seeing a nice girl like you in a place like this," calls a very familiar voice, interrupting my thoughts and making me spin around in search of its owner.

"Ursala?" I say, peering around the row of trees and bushes until I can see her sitting on the bench concealed behind, her knees tucked up to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them.

"We seem to have a habit of meeting here," she replies, smiling slightly as she looks up at me.

I walk forwards, scrutinising her closely as I get nearer. It's been a year since I last saw her, since we stood together in the City Circle and watched the boy from District Eight wear the crown before I had to look on as she was led away who knows where while Vespasian waited by my side and then escorted me to Falco. I felt a strange mixture of relief and guilt then and I still feel it now, relief that it wasn't me in her place and guilt that she has to endure what I do not.

She's aged a little from the young woman she was when we sat on this bench together for the first time as I waited for Gloss to enter the arena but she looks as good as she did then. She's going to end up being one of those unfortunate Victors whose looks only improve with age and I can tell I'll be seeing her in the Capitol for many years to come.

"Do you want this?" I ask, shrugging off my coat and holding it out to her.

She smiles, letting her feet stretch down to the floor as she takes it, pulling it tightly around her over the top of the garment I can only just bring myself to call a dress. It's the only thing she's wearing and it tells me why she's here without me having to ask her.

"Thank you," she replies. "It seems my usual coat provider is otherwise engaged tonight."

"Tiberius is here?" I ask, remembering the days that followed Gloss's victory and the time Tiberius sent me out to talk to her when she sat not far from where we are now after yet another of the president's assignations. He'd sent me out with his coat and her words make me think he hasn't stopped looking out for her since. Not that he'd ever admit to that, but I take it to be true anyway.

"Of course," she says bitterly. "There's never a shortage of bored Capitol women who want nothing more than to pay for the right to pretend they're not the one in control for a change."

I laugh despite the serious tone in her voice. "I think we both know who's really in charge and it isn't those women and it certainly isn't Tiberius Silvestri." She shifts slightly closer to me and I abruptly narrow my eyes at her. "Why are you here, Ursala?" I ask, knowing she'd never rebel against Snow because of what he'd do to Velia if she did.

"My latest patron's wife has given me the night off," she replies with a humourless smile. "It appears she didn't take to kindly to the discovery that the love of her life was spending his surplus cash on our esteemed leader's most successful business venture."

"How is Velia?" I ask, deciding to make it easier on both of us by not dwelling on our previous topic of conversation.

"Growing up," she replies. "She still lives with me though. I won't let her in the Training Centre unless she's actually training. I won't have her staying there."

"I bet she loves that," I say, remembering a girl as stubborn and wilful as her mother and struggling to imagine anyone managing to stop a young Ursala from being somewhere she wanted to be.

"She can fight as well as any of them but she doesn't want to be a tribute. She still doesn't know the truth about why I'm here but I can't hide it from her like I used to. She knows enough to believe me when I tell her not to try to come here."

"Good," I reply. She's been through enough without having to watch the same thing happen to her daughter as well.

"You're right though. She likes being there. She's good and I think she likes the respect she gets because of it."

"I can't imagine where she gets that from," I tease, wincing when she hits me and thinking how I really wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of her if that's how hard she punches when she's only playing.

"Has anything happened in the arena?" she asks, laughing at my reaction.

"Not really. Ours are still hunting but they're not getting very far. Or they weren't a few minutes ago. Gloss will get a message to me if anything happens."

"How's your girl coping?" she asks, looking at me in a way that tells me people have been gossiping and that my brother's interest in Glimmer hasn't escaped the notice of the more observant Victors.

"Well enough," I reply, suddenly instinctively cagey. Ursala might be my friend and she isn't even mentoring this year but she's still from the same district as two of Glimmer and Marvel's greatest rivals.

"She's good but the star-crossed lovers will turn on her in the end," she says thoughtfully, confusing me slightly.

"But they're not 'star-crossed lovers'," I retort, emulating her and mirroring the phrase all the papers are using for the pair from District Twelve. "They never did a good job of acting the part if you ask me. And now he's betrayed her…"

"I didn't mean District Twelve," she says flatly, her voice so low that I have to strain to hear her.

"Then…? You mean your two?" I reply, remembering the time I saw them in the basement of the Training Centre and not finding it as hard to believe as I should despite the incredulity in my voice.

"You'll be waiting a long time if you want soft kisses and love poetry but from what little I've seen they're not exactly doing a very good job of hiding it. I thought you were supposed to be observant, District One," she teases before becoming serious again. "They were never meant to be in the same arena so nobody thought to do anything about it. Not that I think for a second that anyone could have kept them apart if they'd tried."

"But they _are _in the same arena."

"Which means I don't think my district will have a Victor this year. He won't kill her and she won't kill him, no matter what they pretend for the cameras. And that means someone else will probably kill them both before it comes to that anyway."

"Who?" I ask, curious to know what she thinks of these Games she's watching from a distance.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Your girl, probably. She's a bit like you were and the Capitol loves her almost as much."

"She's not at all like me. Not really."

"But your brother loves her," she continues, not phrasing it like a question.

"Whatever makes you think that?" I reply, admitting nothing.

"I know things," she answers cagily, reaching out to run a finger along the bracelet that hangs from my wrist. "Not just that."

I turn to face her then, and her eyes look almost black in the dim light. Falco gave me that bracelet and she knows it. She also knows he was part of the old rebellion and something in her expression tells me she's now talking about the new one.

"I thought you were done with things like that," I say cautiously.

"Sometimes we don't have the luxury of choice."

I want nothing more than to ask her to explain further but I know I can't. These aren't the subjects that can be discussed in a place like this, so I force myself to remain silent. I think I know what she means anyway, because Falco's involvement means I am also involved whether I like it or not. That thought makes me wonder if the new rebellion is setting up spy networks in the districts like the old one did. Perhaps that is why Ursala has no choice but to be a part of it. But Velia's too young for something like that, so who else could it be who my friend cares for enough to risk her life for?

"Shouldn't you be going to get some sleep?" she asks eventually, breaking a silence that could have lasted a minute or an hour. "You'll have to back in the Control Room soon."

I shrug my shoulders. "I think I should just go straight back. I can't rest anyway."

"Look away for a second and Clove will have annihilated most of the tributes before you know it," she replies, laughing despite how I sense she isn't entirely joking. "Or that's what a lot of the Capitolians think. She's joint favourite in the betting after the bloodbath."

"She's not exactly…what you'd expect from looking at her, is she?"

"Clove?" she replies, really laughing this time. "I suppose not. If you're not used to her."

"What do you mean?"

"You know who her father is, or should I say, was?"

"Aristaeus," I reply, recalling how I recognised the girl's name and eventually connected it with the man who won the Games about twenty years ago and was the most bloodthirsty tribute since Vikus Cortez.

She nods. "Aristaeus Jacia…died when Clove was a few days shy of twelve years old," she says, and something in her voice tells me he didn't exactly die of natural causes. "She had no other family so she came to the Training Centre. Our Training Centre, I mean."

"But what did you mean 'if you're not used to her'?" I ask, curious to know about Glimmer's ally despite how I should probably be going back to the Control Room and how it really isn't any of my business.

Ursala laughs again. "When you go back to the Control Room, look at Vikus's left arm. A few inches above his elbow you'll see a scar. There isn't a person in the District Two Training Centre who doesn't know how he came to have it."

I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her, hoping she'll explain.

"I'm sure you'll find it very difficult to believe when I say Vikus is the most feared person at the Training Centre," she says, her tone of voice contradicting her words and telling me she thinks I'll find it all too easy to believe. She isn't wrong. "All of the trainees are terrified of him and he feeds on their fear, plays on it and enjoys their humiliation," she continues, shuddering as if she's remembering her own time there.

"I can believe that, but what's it got to do with your tribute girl?"

"She was only a child, twelve years old and she looked even younger, but he spoke to her like she was years older, like she was a woman grown. Not because he meant what he said," she adds, obviously in response to the horrified expression on my face that I don't bother attempting to hide. "He's a lot of things but he isn't that. But he wanted her to react, he wanted to test her and that was the only thing that made her give him the reaction he craved. He'd done the same to hundreds before her in hundreds of ways, and I doubt a single one so much as dared to say a word in response. Clove threw a knife into his arm and told him that if he touched her again then the next one would be in his throat. Nobody's ever forgotten that and so I find it hard to imagine how outsiders see her."

"I'm surprised she lived to see her thirteenth birthday."

"Because you don't understand my district, not really," she replies, smiling softly. "Clove Jacia's back is as scarred as her lover's because they were never out of trouble, but that day wasn't the day she won Vikus's hatred, it was the day she won his respect. He doesn't mentor the female tributes because he says they're physically too weak to win in the arena," she continues, wrinkling her nose with something that looks a lot like contempt, "but he tested Clove like he would the strongest of her male counterparts from that day on. He's her mentor as well as Cato's. And the only other woman Vikus has ever mentored is Enobaria Moreno."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because I know you'd have worked it out yourself soon," she says eventually. "The part about them being lovers anyway. Besides, you're annoying at the best of times, de Montfort, but I've sort of got used to having you around. I meant it when I said I don't think Cato or Clove will win so I'd rather save you some pain than anyone else in that Control Room."

"Thank you," I reply, meaning it even though I'm not entirely sure how knowing what she's told me will help me to help Glimmer.

She sighs and shakes her head, standing up and half dragging me with her. "Go and get some sleep. You look dreadful."

"That's always nice to hear in a place like this," I say dryly, but then I also shake my head. "I'll be more use to them if I go back to the Control Room. I'm not that tired yet."

"Gloss is in the Control Room not the arena, Cashmere," she replies knowingly as she reluctantly starts to take my coat off. "Make sure you remember that and sleep when it's your turn to or you'll be no use to anyone."

"Keep it," I say, gesturing to the coat because I don't quite know what else to say. "Give it back next time you see me."

Just as she always does, she inclines her head rather than saying goodbye, and then she walks away, quickly disappearing from sight into the darkness. I stare after her for several minutes, silently hoping she'll have many more nights like this, before I turn around and almost run back to the Control Room.

I get there at the precise moment the picture on the main screen changes to show Marvel as he slashes his sword across the chest of a tribute girl who had been cowering at his feet. Gloss sees me and moves to stand by my side, letting me lean against him while I make myself remember how to breathe. I knew it would come to this but I didn't think it would happen so soon.

* * *

><p><strong><em>At some point I will remember that I'm writing District One rather than District Two, I promise :P I'll be back on the rebellion next chapter...(as well as the arena, obviously)...<em>**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Stop thinking about it, Cash. What's done is done. The girl couldn't live, you know that."

"I know," I reply, stopping short of telling him all of what I'm thinking even though I want to.

The truth is that it isn't the fact Marvel killed the girl that's really bothering me. This is the Hunger Games and tributes have to die, it's been the same for over seventy years and nobody can say my hands are clean of blood. What really bothers me is that he seemed to enjoy tormenting her. I'm not sure how much was real and how much was an act to play up to the audience, but rather than the blank look I see in my own eyes when I'm forced to watch replays of my own Games, I saw a gleam of excitement that terrified me more than anything I saw at the bloodbath.

"Cash," whispers Gloss, the urgency in his voice telling me that this isn't the first time he's tried to attract my attention. "I think they're going to let the boy try."

I turn to the main screen to see Glimmer, Marvel, their allies and Peeta sitting in a loose circle not far from the Cornucopia. A short distance away sits a small tribute boy, sitting on a fabric bag and shaking with fear as he waits for his captors to decide if what he offered them is a sufficiently attractive prospect to persuade them to allow him to live for a short time longer.

Even some of the mentors whose tributes died in the first battle have returned to the Control Room following the boy from District Three's announcement that he could reactivate the land mines that surrounded the podiums at the start of the Games. I can see a screen showing Caesar Flickerman interviewing a very anxious but somewhat proud-looking Beetee from here, so it's obvious what the whole city's talking about. Wiress looks lost without him as she sits silently in front of her monitor, nervously wringing her hands together on her lap.

"It won't work," says Chaff from District Eleven, who has been looking at me strangely ever since the spear incident yesterday.

He speaks loudly enough for everyone in the room can hear, and that is more than enough to restart the debate that's been raging ever since the so-called Career Alliance sat down to decide the boy's fate.

"He'll probably end up blowing them all to pieces if they let him try," says Marcus from District Five, who has been carefully and diligently monitoring the flame-haired girl called Lysandra from the second the starting gong sounded despite how she's officially supposed to be Viola's tribute.

"And that would be a bad thing why?" replies Haymitch, not looking anywhere near as smug as he did on interview night.

Chaff laughs in response, more a bark than a laugh, but Marcus says nothing, his attention returning to the screen in front of him. He has good reason not to want the boy to be allowed to try his plan. Lysandra's already stolen food from the Cornucopia and is showing no signs of looking for another food source, so if the landmines are reactivated then there's every chance the girl will be their first victim.

I turn back to the screen in front of me in time to see a decision has been made. The boy will live. For long enough to see if he can do as he promised anyway.

Clove is obviously unhappy with the verdict of the majority and she makes that displeasure plain to see as Cato tells Peeta to dig up the mines. However her district partner whispers something to her that the cameras don't pick up, and whatever it is he says calms her slightly, making her release her grip on the knife in her pocket even if it doesn't stop her from glaring down at the boy from the factory district as he shrinks away.

I'm not entirely sure that Marcus Arrowsmith's predicted outcome of this won't become reality, so I'm not at all disappointed when Marvel draws his sword and steps towards the boy. Thinking he's about to make what's probably the first smart decision I've ever seen him make and put an end to this ridiculous plan once and for all, I sit forward in my chair, watching intently and waiting.

However my heart quickly sinks when I realise he seeks only to torment the boy further and draw confidence from the fear he radiates. He has that look in his eyes again, the look he had when he was torturing that girl from District Eight.

"Marvel! Stop!" shouts Clove, her silver-grey eyes narrowing sharply as my tribute's sword gets a bit too close to the boy's throat for comfort.

"Clove, you need to calm down," he replies patronisingly, looking her slowly up and down. "Although I can't deny that you're very sexy when you're angry."

"Well, de Montfort, your boy's officially got a death wish," shouts Augustus from the District Two station. "I bet Marcelli gets there first," he continues, grinning as he turns to Vikus.

"Then you don't know Jacia at all," replies the Victor of the Thirty-fifth Games with total certainty. "Which is surprising considering that cut you have on your face."

Augustus looks away, abruptly very quiet, and a split second later, Clove's fist connects with Marvel's jaw with sufficient force to knock him to the ground. I'm temporarily speechless and more than a bit relieved the boy got off so lightly, but Gloss groans and rolls his eyes.

"Knocked out by a girl half his size," he says dryly. "There goes the sponsorship money."

It isn't funny. I know it isn't funny, but whether because of his words, his expression or simply because of nothing more than the build up of emotions only the Control Room can cause, I suddenly laugh and am totally unable to stop. Then Gloss laughs with me and together we ignore the alternately amused and contemptuous looks we get from the escorts and other mentors. I don't care what they think. I can hear my brother's laughter again, and for some reason that's suddenly all that matters to me.

When I'm finally able to return my attention to the goings on in the arena, I see the boy from Three is working on the mines again, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously across at his captors. The camera moves to show Glimmer as she sits in the shadow of the Cornucopia, a short distance away from a still very vexed-looking Clove.

Making what is definitely the most sensible decision he's made since the Games began, Marvel keeps his distance from both of them, nursing his already swollen jaw at the same time as trying to sort through some of the supplies. My first thought is to send him something to ease the pain and bruising, but I quickly change my mind. Learning to watch what he says to Clove is a lesson that is likely to significantly increase his chance of living to see tomorrow, so I decide it's best for him to have the pain there to make him remember that. His sponsorship money remains where it is.

"Cato, just sit down. You're making me nervous."

Clove's harsh call to her district partner draws the main camera's attention away from Marvel in time for me to see the man from Two temporarily stop his relentless pacing to look down at the dark-haired girl who leans casually back against the Cornucopia. After my conversation with Ursala, I suddenly find what I didn't really see before to be very obvious.

She stares back at him before nodding imperiously to a sleeping bag a short distance from hers. He just smirks at her before ignoring her unspoken suggestion entirely and lifting her off her own sleeping bag instead.

"Are you nervous now?" he snarls, pinning her arms behind her back with one hand and unzipping the front of her jacket to take a knife from its lining with the other.

"Because of you?" she retorts as she somehow twists out of his grip and draws a knife of her own. "I don't think so."

"You should be," he replies fiercely, but despite that, when the camera zooms in on his dark-blue eyes, I can somehow see how different he is from the man who was pacing around and glaring at District Three only a few short minutes earlier. Something about Clove changes him, and if they keep on like this then it's only a matter of time before the Capitol's professional gossips pick up on it.

"What are you smirking at, Sparkle?" snaps Clove, suddenly turning her attention from Cato to Glimmer, who is indeed sitting there watching her allies with a highly amused grin on her face.

"Nothing," she replies, speaking in a tone of voice that tells everyone listening that she really means 'something'.

When Cato and Clove sit down, they are careful to sit at opposite ends of the sleeping bag.

"What do you think they're saying back in the Capitol now?" asks Cato eventually, sounding like a combination of Clove's doubts and the boy's slowness to produce any reactivated mines is making him question the benefits of the plan. "Are they laughing at us?"

"I doubt it," replies Glimmer wryly. "They're probably more concerned about how being in the arena is taking its toll on the condition of my hair and how you still haven't ripped your shirt despite all the fighting. I'm sure the women back in the Capitol are more than disappointed."

He laughs and so does Clove, although I don't miss how she scowls slightly at Glimmer's last comment.

"And here was I thinking you loved the reporters and photographers as much as they love you," she says, teasingly mocking as the scowl fades as abruptly as it appeared.

I sit forward in my chair, willing Glimmer to have the sense to think of a reply that doesn't involve her telling the whole country what she truly thinks of the Capitol and its citizens. That won't do her any favours with the audience and she might need their help later.

"They love me more than they love you, Soldier-girl," she replies, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"I can live with that," says Clove with a smirk. Glimmer smirks back and shrugs her shoulders.

"She's doing the right thing," whispers Falco into my ear. "She doesn't want to make enemies out of those two.

I nod and turn to the camera showing Marvel, wishing he had the same level of sense. If he doesn't start working with the main power behind the alliance soon then it's going to get to the point where he's better off on his own.

"How much longer is it going to take?" he asks, looking across at the boy with the mines.

"As long as it takes," snarls Clove in response. "Those who supported the stupid idea should have a bit more patience."

He glares at her but doesn't seem to dare do any more than that, and I can see the knowledge of her victory reflected in her eyes as she turns around and lies down. The top of her head is close enough to brush the side of Cato's thigh but neither of them seems to notice. Glimmer smiles knowingly before getting up to get some water from the lake, and her expression tells me she worked them out without having to be told.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, the boy is still working, bent almost double over the pile of metal and twisted wires in his lap. His captors are starting to get impatient, or should I say the majority of them are starting to get impatient, because Cato was never patient in the first place.<p>

The boy stops and looks nervously around before getting up and going to the Cornucopia, taking what looks to be a drink and an apple from a nearby box. Cato sees him instantly and strides in his direction. The second the boy sees him, he turns and almost runs back towards the mines. I look to the side and see a very anxious-looking Beetee and Wiress, their heads together in front of the same monitor.

"Any second now," whispers Gloss, and I lean closer to him without taking my eyes off the screen.

However Cato doesn't immediately kill the boy like both Gloss and I thought he would. He towers over him, demanding to know how much longer it will take to reactivate the mines before pushing him roughly to the ground. I'm surprised he has the courage to speak as he turns around to look fearfully up at the man who could end his life in an instant, but though he stammers to start with, the more he talks about the mines and what he's doing, the more confident he seems to become.

He goes on and on about the mechanics of landmines, losing me totally after a couple of sentences, and I can see an expression that can only be described as total confusion on Marvel's face. Glimmer manages to hide it better than her district partner, but I can see the same confusion in her eyes as well. It's only Clove who has the sense to at least pretend to be following what the boy is saying, and when she repeats back to him some of what he said, I'm impressed by the way she manages to sound convincing enough to make the others believe she knows a lot more than I suspect she actually does.

Eventually it becomes clear that the boy is going to live to carry on with his plan, for now at least, and when Glimmer suggests that they should leave him to get on with it and get some rest, most of the others are quick to agree. Cato orders Varia from District Four to take the first watch and the others settle down to sleep.

"You know they'll kill him once he's finished what he's doing, don't you?" says the woman from District Four as she looks across at Beetee and Wiress.

"But…" replies Wiress, gesturing to the screen.

"…he's still alive now," finishes Beetee. "Anything can happen in the arena."

"Do you think he'll be able to do it?" I ask, turning to Falco as he prepares to leave to see yet more potential sponsors.

"I think he can do it," he replies. "It just depends if he lives long enough be able to finish what he's started. The clock's ticking. They won't let him live for much longer."

"Where are you going?"

"You know where."

"Remember what we said," I tell him, not wanting to say more than that in case some of the other mentors are listening in as I refer to our decision to watch who we accept money off unless it gets to a point where it's a matter of life or death.

"I'd never forget," he replies, pushing his chair under the desk before nodding to Gloss and sweeping from the room.

For the next couple of hours nothing happens by the Cornucopia and the main screen begins to show pictures of the other tributes, focussing mainly on a very dehydrated Katniss as she searches for water. I look across at Haymitch as she becomes increasingly desperate, wondering why he won't use the sponsorship money that I know he has to help the only tribute since his victory nearly twenty-five years ago who has impressed him enough to make him stay sober.

It seems I'm not the only one thinking the same as I hear Chaff tell his friend to help her. The only response he gets is that she has to do these things for herself, that she isn't stupid so she should use her common sense. I begin to question how these people from the lower districts think they have the right to call those who train their tributes barbaric and cruel when the Girl on Fire almost passes out in a puddle of mud and finally finds what she needs to stay alive.

"That's a shame," says Vikus from the adjacent desk. "It's about time Fire-girl's flame was extinguished."

I say nothing, not feeling the same level of hatred towards the girl but at the same time not quite feeling able to disagree with him. He's right, she has to die. She has to die or neither Glimmer nor Marvel can live.

"Has anything happened?" I ask Gloss, who has been ignoring the main screen in favour of the small one on our monitor which focuses solely on our tributes.

"No," he replies. "They're changing watches, that's all."

I slide my chair across to his so I can see the screen as well, watching as Marvel walks across the camp, moving past Cato and Clove and towards Glimmer, who is lying curled up on her side, seemingly in a deep sleep. However as the camera zooms in on Cato and Clove when he walks past them, I see Clove's silver grey eyes staring up at the sky. My tribute might not have noticed she's awake but I have and so has Gloss. Ever since they all got the sleeping bags out and set up the watches, there has always been one tribute from District Two awake while the other sleeps. They clearly don't trust anyone but each other.

The picture then changes to show Marvel as he stops by Glimmer's sleeping bag. Rather than waking her straight away, he stands there watching her for several minutes. Then he leans down and pushes a strand of her golden hair back from her face, the back of his hand trailing against her neck. Her reaction is instantaneous, making me think she wasn't as asleep as she appeared to be.

"Don't you dare even think about touching me!" she shouts, her voice angrier than I've ever heard it as she jumps up like he'd dropped scalding water on her. "If you so much as look at me again then I swear I will kill you!"

He scowls at her, clearly affronted by her reaction, and then he utters a few simple words that make me gasp but at the same time render me speechless and leave the rest of the Control Room as silent as the dead.

"You didn't say that to Gloss, did you, Glimmer?"

* * *

><p>It doesn't take long for Marvel's words to start copious amounts of rumours flying around the city. I can tell as soon as I see the uniformed attendant standing by the doors, looking straight past me at Gloss. I doubt there's a person in the Capitol who doesn't know about what was said, and now it looks like they want some real answers.<p>

"Gloss," I whisper, nudging my brother with my elbow and nodding in that direction.

"What is it, Cash?" he replies, deliberately not looking at me in a way that shows me he knows exactly what will happen next.

I tug his sleeve and eventually he turns to face me.

"It's just a stupid throwaway comment made in the arena," he says, sounding slightly desperate.

"Then you have to go out there and tell them that," I say firmly in response. "If you don't then they'll jump to their own conclusions."

"But they can't…"

I shake my head sadly, knowing exactly what he's thinking and dares not say. To all intents and purposes, Gloss is considered to be nothing more than property by the president. If Snow believes the rumours Marvel's started then it will only mean trouble for him and trouble for Glimmer if she leaves the arena alive.

"They can and they will, little brother," I reply, nudging him again.

"Will you come with me?" he asks, looking back at me with wide eyes and suddenly reminding me of the boy who never wanted to go to Father's parties that he was twenty years ago.

I look longingly across to the other side of the desk, wishing Falco was there.

"Somebody needs to watch them," I say, resting my hand on the control panel so my monitor lights up and shows me Glimmer as she whispers to Clove across the fire.

"I know," says Gloss resignedly, sighing as the man returns to replace the little boy.

He gets up and walks towards the attendant before the man can start to come over here. He walked to the hovercraft that was waiting to take him to his arena with less fear and apprehension in his posture, and I'm about to turn away because I can't bear to watch when Falco appears in the doorway. He stops to watch Gloss with an anxious expression on his face.

As soon as I see him, I fly from my chair and run across the room, shouting to him to watch the arena and that I'll be back soon. There's very little happening on the screens so everyone else is staring at us, but I don't care. I don't care what they think. I have to go after Gloss.

* * *

><p>He's almost at the second set of doors by the time I get there and I can see the ever-present crowd of reporters gathered outside. There are twice as many as usual.<p>

"Gloss!" I shout. "Gloss, wait!"

He turns around and waits for me, taking my hand and squeezing it tight. We walk out of the building together.

They're all around us in an instant, pushing microphones up to our faces and shouting out questions, or should I say _question_, for they all say the same thing in a slightly different way. 'Is what your tribute said in the arena true?', 'Were you having a relationship with Glimmer Goldsmith?'. Different words but always the same question.

I push myself forwards and then barge my way through the crowd, dragging my brother with me. I don't stop until we reach the same raised platform I stood on with Ursala all those years ago when they interviewed us about what had just happened in Gloss's arena. It hasn't changed a bit, and neither have the faces looking back at me.

"Is it true?" calls one reporter over the others.

"No," replies Gloss flatly, and though I can hear the lie in his voice, I don't think anyone else will be able to.

"But after what Marvel said in the arena…he must have got the idea from somewhere…"

"He's an eighteen-year-old boy," I say, speaking when it quickly becomes apparent that Gloss isn't going to. "Do you honestly think that every word he speaks is the truth?"

They ask the same questions over and over again for what feels like hours, but when they finally get bored and let us go, I could cry with relief. Gloss didn't say much but I think what he did say will be convincing enough. The papers will run with the story, I'm sure, but it won't be enough to displace the saga of the boy with the mines from the front pages, and that means those who matter are unlikely to give it credence.

When we get back to the Control Room, we are just in time to see Cato telling Clove that the boy has succeeded, that the mines have been reactivated. My heart sinks again, and Gloss, Falco and I have no choice but to watch as they all gather the supplies together in a pyramid and District Three carefully places his weapons in the ground.

"Go back to the Training Centre and get some sleep," says Gloss as Glimmer and Marvel head off into the forest.

I've no idea what time it is but it's almost dark in the arena and I feel so exhausted that I could probably sleep here. However that doesn't mean I'm willing to leave Gloss here alone when he's had as little rest as I have.

"Go, Cash," he says, almost as though he can read my mind. "We can't both go so one of us will have to go first. You should be first."

I turn to Falco and he nods. "Go. I have somewhere to be so I'll walk you out."

Something about the look in his eyes tells me that 'somewhere' involves the rebellion, and I have to turn away, suddenly scared that those observing the Control Room will know what I'm thinking just from the expression on my face. Rather than risk drawing attention to myself, I do as I'm told and follow him outside. He tells me to have a good day as he leaves me and sets off down the path that leads back to the City Circle. I don't even think to tell him it's night time.

* * *

><p>I walk to the back exit of the Training Centre, telling myself over and over again that I'm going to be strong and that I'm not going to let Gloss say no when I tell him to leave the Control Room so he can get some rest. It's the morning of the third day in the arena and he's barely slept since the starting gong sounded, but I know him well enough to know he'll say no. Maybe I should tell him that he'll be no use to Glimmer if he makes himself ill. I think that's the only thing I could say that might make him listen.<p>

The automatic doors slide open and I focus on the path ahead of me, hoping that Falco will be there to support me. Not that Gloss will want to listen to him any more than he will want to listen to me.

But then the next second I spin around, jerking my arm away and out of the grasp of the person who reached for me. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn't even notice there was anyone there.

"There's no need to be like that. It's only me."

"What do you want?" I snap, narrowing my eyes at Narissa as she stares unblinkingly back at me.

"You, Cashmere," she purrs in reply, making me narrow my eyes even further and clench my hands into tight fists at my sides. "You won't be going to the Control Room this morning."

"I have to," I say, trying to sound calm and in control when I abruptly become aware that we aren't alone and that any one of the people walking past us could be listening to our conversation. "I'm Glimmer and Marvel's mentor and I have a job to do. A different job."

She shrugs her slender shoulders, flicking her dark hair behind them. "Not my problem," she whispers, lowering her voice so the onlookers won't be able to hear. "Come with me."

I follow her, knowing that I can't protest because it will cause too much of a scene. She might have made it look like a fashion statement but I know the white rose in her hair means something entirely different. It means that I can't say no or the secret I have kept from President Snow all these years will be revealed in a matter of seconds. He will know that I'm not truly his possession and nothing Narissa could do or say is worth that.

"I knew you'd see sense," she says, leaning close to me as she takes my arm and leads me down the path in the opposite direction, back towards the City Circle.

She leads me to a car, which then takes us in the direction of her apartment, and it's only when we stop and get out a short distance away that I start to suspect all isn't as it first seems. I get my second clue when I see Vespasian walking towards us. It all looks very coincidental, like he just happens to bump into us and Narissa just happens to agree to go to his house instead, but I know better. I've seen enough of both of them to know that most things they say and do have more meaning than that which first appears.

"What's all this about?" I ask Narissa as we walk along the path towards the house.

"Do you really need me to explain?" she replies, not quite speaking with her usual relaxed lightness. When I turn to look at her, she almost seems tense, or as tense as someone as used to concealing her true feelings as she is gets anyway.

I say nothing further and I'm not surprised when I'm immediately taken upstairs to Vespasian's room. The owner of the room remains downstairs, the look in his eyes as he walks away telling me he knows exactly what's happening here. I only wish someone would explain it to me.

Narissa looks around warily before she takes a few of the books from a shelf, making the entire bookcase open outwards to reveal a narrow corridor. She nods commandingly to me and for once I do as I'm told, walking quickly inside for no reason other than because my curiosity is getting the better of me.

"I wonder what the president would say if he knew what a fabulous excuse for having you here he's provided us with," says Narissa as she pulls the bookcase back into position behind herself.

"It won't work," I snap suspiciously, starting to lose my temper again when I think of Gloss waiting for me to join him. "Even _He _wouldn't sell me when I'm supposed to be mentoring. I don't have time for this. I need to be in the Control Room."

"Of course it will work," replies Narissa. "If he had a soul then he'd sell it if the price was high enough. And Panem knows I paid him more than you're worth."

"I am worth everything and nothing at the same time. You can't put a price on a person," I spit, suddenly forgetting where I am and struggling not to slap her smug face.

"You can in this Panem, Cashmere," she replies, the smirk fading for a brief moment. "I think you know that as well as I do."

"I need to see what's happening in the arena," I say, knowing she speaks the truth and ending up lost for words because of it.

"I'm sure your divine little brother will cope well enough without you."

"What do you want, Narissa?" I snap, once again not quite able to hate her when she mentions Gloss.

She drags me further down the corridor and into Vespasian's study, pushing me down onto the chair before pulling herself up onto the desk. She crosses one leg over the other and straightens her tight black skirt, looking across at me the whole time.

"To talk."

"Why would you talk to me? Stop playing games and tell me what this is about."

"My grandmother."

"Achillea's dead," I reply flatly, wishing she wasn't like I always do when I think of her, thinking of how different things could have been if her plan had succeeded.

"Do you think I don't know that? I've lived with the knowledge every day since I left The Vault without her," she says, looking away from me for the first time since we sat down.

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about what she fought for, about what she created. About what she created that's now crashing down around us because it's being led by a combination of fools and people who are only out for their own gain."

I know she means the rebellion even though she can't seem to bring herself to say the actual word out loud. When I last saw her and witnessed her run in with Phoebe I had thought it odd she seemed so excluded, almost like she wasn't involved at all, and everything she's now saying only confirms what I'd thought at the time. But there's one thing bothering me more than any other, one thing I don't understand.

"But why are you talking to me? What do you expect me to do about it?"

"You are the only way I can think of to get through to a man who holds to the old plan but is still able to influence those who have created the new," she says slowly, making sure I take in what she really means as well as what she says.

"Falco," I reply, not needing her to confirm that I'm right. "But he's your friend. He's known you longer than he's known me."

"Yes, but he thinks I'm clinging to the old plan because it was Grandmother's. He thinks the new plan has merit and I need you to try and convince him otherwise."

"Why would I do that? I don't even know what the new plan is. And now we're talking about it, I didn't know all that much about the old one. How do I know you're not just trying to use me to get what you want?"

"You don't, but hear me out. Please."

I jerk my head up at that, not expecting to ever hear that word from the lips of one so proud. "Go on."

"The Gamemaker is the one pretending to be worthy of taking Grandmother's place. He thinks he will be the one to, what did he say… 'Free Panem from the tyranny of the government'-"

"Heavensbee?" I ask, speaking before she can finish.

She nods. "How did you know?"

"A lot of things that Falco didn't quite say. And I met him once. He didn't look at me like most of the others do."

"He wouldn't do. I think he's more likely to look at Gloss," she says with a sly smile that disappears as quickly as it came. "Anyway," she continues, suddenly serious again, "he's the one doing the organising but he isn't acting alone. He's been in contact with District Thirteen for months, maybe even years."

I stare blankly at her for several minutes and then I can't stop myself from laughing. "Don't be ridiculous. Is this a joke? There is no District Thirteen."

"There is. There always has been."

"Really?" I reply mockingly. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe that the Capitol has let them exist out there for all these years and not done a thing about it?"

"They have enough nuclear weapons to kill us all. What else could the government do?"

"So Plutarch Heavensbee the Gamemaker is forming an alliance with a believed-to-be-dead district in a plot to bring down Snow's government? That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard."

"It's the truth," she replies flatly, no hint of the usual flirtatious teasing in her voice.

"If they have nuclear weapons then why don't you just get District Thirteen to blow up the Capitol and be done with it?"

She shakes her head at me. "Falco has spent all of these years telling me how intelligent you are," she says, "but I never believe him because you come out with ludicrous suggestions like that. Use what little sense you have, Cashmere. Why would most of the people organising this would-be…revolution…want the Capitol gone? The vast majority of them are Capitolian. And it isn't the Capitol that's bad, it's the government. As far as I know, there's no such thing as a nuclear weapon so selective that it will only take out the president's mansion."

I scowl at her, not quite agreeing that the Capitol isn't the problem. But on the other hand, Falco's from the Capitol, so is Felix and all of the other people I've met here. There is corruption and injustice here, but that exists everywhere else as well. There are countless people here who don't deserve to die.

"Then what's so bad about District Thirteen? Why don't you want their help?"

"And exchange one dictatorship for another? Make them the new Capitol and us the new District Thirteen? I don't think so," she replies. "From what I've heard of the place, it's run like a jail. Everything the people do is planned with military precision. I'll have nobody telling me what to do. I'll let nobody take my freedom."

I lean back in the chair and look up at her, recognising her words as something I'd think and say despite the obvious differences between us. I don't have much of it, but what little freedom I have means a lot to me, and I can understand anyone who says they don't want somebody else to have power over their lives.

"You understand, don't you?" she says, uncrossing her legs and pushing herself off the desk to land lightly on her feet in front of me. "I know you do, I can see it in your eyes."

"I understand that but I don't understand what's happening here. There's so little chance of anything succeeding if you don't work together. What are District Thirteen saying?"

"I don't know," she replies eventually, beginning to pace around the tiny room as she speaks. "Heavensbee doesn't trust me so he tells me nothing."

"And Vespasian?"

"The Gamemaker doesn't trust him either. Heavensbee knows he's too used to his nice life here. Vespasian might want an end to Snow's government but he doesn't want a full-scale revolution. Why would he want that much change when he's happy the way he is?"

"Falco?" I continue, finally deciding it's time for me to hear what I've dreaded hearing since she brought me here.

"You'll have to ask him," she says. "All he knows is that he wants an end to what we have now. He looks at you and I don't think he really cares what has to happen to achieve it."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Just talk to him. That's all I ask. See what he says and try to make him realise there's another way."

"What if there isn't another way? The last attempt at rebellion failed before it even started. Maybe we need to try something different."

"No," she says firmly. "We have to fight back, but it has to be us. It has to be the people who have lived in this Panem, not outsiders who've spent all their lives hiding away underground and letting us suffer."

"Since when have you been such an advocate for the common person, Narissa?" I reply, still trying to discern the hidden motive that must be buried there somewhere. She wouldn't be Narissa if she didn't have a hidden agenda somewhere.

"I grew up with talk of rebellion. That's all I ever heard and all I ever knew. You don't like me, Cashmere, and I don't particularly like you, but talk to Falco. Please."

"And tell him what? Where's the sense in having two factions? The last attempt didn't succeed with only one."

"I have my contacts, people who feel the same as I do," she says. "We don't want to split from the others, we just want them to leave Thirteen out of it. If they do that then we'll do whatever the Gamemaker asks us, no questions asked."

"I'll tell Falco," I reply. "That's all I can do. I can't promise anything else and I can't promise he'll listen to me."

"Of course he'll listen to you. He'd do anything for you, Cashmere de Montfort, even more than he already does."

I nod, not really knowing what to say when I know she speaks the truth. She doesn't seem happy with my silence and takes a step towards me, standing so close that her legs are almost pressing against my knees, however I'm spared having to struggle to answer by the sound of footsteps outside the room.

"Cashmere!" calls Vespasian as he throws the door open. "Cashmere, you need to go back to the Control Room right now. The arena's on fire."

* * *

><p><em><strong>I said I'd try to leave District Two alone and I've done a better job of keeping my word than I did last chapter... <strong>_

_**This is a little bit earlier than usual because I'm going away, however don't let that stop you from leaving me a review because it'd really make me happy if I had a lot of them waiting for me when I get back! So go on, talk to me and tell me you're still reading ;) If you ask me anything or send a PM then I'll reply to you next week :)**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_I didn't think I'd be doing this today but I'm back and your reviews inspired me to finish Chapter 9! Thank you :)_**

**_Before I let you carry on reading, I want to point out that some of you may think the scene at the end of this chapter is familiar - if you're wondering why then it will be because it also featured in be-nice-to-nerds' story 'Saving Fire'. Credit for the idea of writing it and for all of Johanna's lines goes to her - I just Cashmere-and Gloss-ified it :P _**

Chapter Nine

I jump from Narissa's car as soon as it pulls up outside the Training Centre without sparing a word for the woman who has effectively held me hostage for most of the day. I hear the sound of its engine ringing in my ears as I race down the path towards the Control Room, hoping I'm not too late, and I know she has nothing more to say to me either. She said all she wanted to say and now it's up to me. But I don't have time to think about that right now. It will have to wait.

"Finally," says Gloss as soon as I get close enough to be within earshot. I can tell just by looking at him that Glimmer isn't in any immediate danger. He's too calm for that. "Where have you been?"

"I got delayed by one of your friends," I whisper. "She decided she wanted a change of sibling today."

"Narissa?" he asks incredulously as he continues to look up at the screens. Every single one shows the arena forest all lit up with almost blindingly bright flames. "What would she want with you?"

When I don't answer he turns to look at me and I glare in response, telling him not to ask any more questions, especially not here. He understands as he always does, but he doesn't seem happy. As far as I know, he has no idea that the plan for revolution didn't die with Achillea, but he isn't stupid and he knows I'm hiding something.

"What's going on?" I ask, changing the subject by gesturing to the monitor. "Where are Glimmer and Marvel?"

Before he can answer me the image changes on all of the wall-mounted screens to show another section of the forest, still cloaked in darkness and shadows with no sign of fire. There is a tribute silently creeping through the trees, too small to be Glimmer. She's been trained though, I can tell by her silence and the way she moves, so I'm not surprised when the camera zooms in to show Clove's familiar face.

I watch her for a minute as she continues onwards, but the next second I jump back in shock as a deafeningly loud bang suddenly fills the room. My eyes are temporarily blinded when all of the screens turn to flames. I feel Gloss's hand tighten around my upper arm, and when he pulls me closer, I can feel him trembling slightly.

"Get up, Jacia," snarls Vikus. "Get up."

I glance across to see him glaring viciously at Clove's image as the smoke eventually clears enough for her to be visible. She remains lying on her back where she was thrown by the explosion even though the fire bears down upon her, getting closer and closer every second. She must be able to feel the heat of the flames on her skin and hear the roar of the fire, but still she doesn't move.

"It might be better if one of them goes early," says an almost amused-looking Augustus.

"If you think that then you're even more stupid than you look," replies Vikus, his eyes not leaving Clove as she finally sits up and sees exactly how much danger she's in. "But she's not going to die today. It'll take more than an arena fire to bring that vicious little bitch down," he continues, sounding almost proud as his hand seemingly subconsciously drifts to the old scar on his arm that I now know his tribute girl put there.

"Her cannon will fire if she doesn't start running now, whatever he thinks," says Gloss as he half watches Clove and half watches Glimmer, who is with the rest of the alliance and already starting to flee in the opposite direction.

"Clove!"

Everybody in the Control Room turns to look at the main screen then, whether their tribute is in the vicinity of the Gamemakers' latest means of entertaining the audience or not. Everybody watches as Cato notices that Clove isn't by his side and immediately sprints back towards the flames, back to the clearing where she still sits, hypnotised by the ever-advancing fire.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" he shouts, lifting her off the ground and carrying her until she recovers enough to run.

"You're not supposed to rescue me, you know. I don't think that's the way the game is supposed to work," gasps Clove eventually, clearly struggling to speak through the thick smoke that fills the air.

"No, he isn't," echoes Vikus, "but the whole of District Two knew he would."

I turn to face Gloss at that, and unsurprisingly my brother is staring back at me, his eyes full of curiosity.

"Later," I whisper.

He nods and then moves away from our desk to stand in front of the big screen, dragging me with him as we continue to watch Glimmer, Marvel and their allies racing away from the flames. Every time they change direction the fire seems to move and expand, blocking their way until they return to the path the Gamemakers want them to take.

I say that because surely this must be Gamemaker-controlled. The only fires we have in District One are the ones we set in the fireplaces to heat our houses, but I know enough to know that no natural fire behaves like this one. The Gamemakers are up to something. Clearly the audience was getting bored.

With the exception of Varia, who somehow seems to be able to avoid any obstacle in her path without slowing down, they stumble and fall with virtually every step they take, obviously finding it impossible to see where they're going through the smoke. Gloss abruptly grips my arm so tightly that I'm sure I'll have bruises when Glimmer crashes to the ground and doesn't immediately get up. I see Marvel glance at her but he doesn't stop, and my brother curses him until Glimmer drags herself to her feet and starts to run once more.

Every time Clove falls, Cato lifts her up and sets her back on her feet. Every time Cato falls, Clove refuses to run until he's back running beside her, even when the fire is so close that her skin must burn. The fact the Capitol hasn't noticed they're more than just district partners proves to me more than ever that they have perfected the art of only seeing what they want to see. Even if Ursala hadn't told me, I know I'd have seen the truth by now.

"What are they playing at?" snaps Gloss, and I somehow know he means the Gamemakers. "Where's the sense in the Alliance ending up dead?"

"They won't die, Gloss. The fire is just a means to an end," I reply, finally telling him what I've been thinking ever since the fire started. "It's when it stops that the show will begin for real."

"Glimmer, no," he says, and from the way he steps closer to the screen, I know he isn't thinking about what I said.

I turn my attention back to the arena in time to see Glimmer finish pulling Clove up from the ground where she fell. The camera zooms in on her smoke-blackened face, and somewhere in the background I can hear the voice of one of the Capitol commentators exclaiming to the audience about how beautiful Glimmer still is, despite the circumstances. They're right, she is still beautiful, even more so when her eyes seem to sparkle in the firelight as she and Clove continue their seemingly ceaseless banter even in a situation like this. I briefly turn in the direction the voice is coming from and scowl.

"As if she cares about beauty now," I whisper under my breath as yet more burning branches rain down on the tributes.

Cato pushes Clove forwards and Glimmer follows. They all start to run again and the flames never relent.

* * *

><p>"They're beating it, aren't they?" says Gloss several hours later, his voice breaking the lengthy silence and making me lift my head from his shoulder.<p>

"Yes," I reply, secretly feeling nothing but relief that both Glimmer and Marvel have trained for most of their lives and are fit enough to run for hours. Only Peeta from District Twelve seems to be suffering as a result of the relentless pace set by a combination of the fire and Varia from Four, and even he keeps running long after I would have expected him to collapse with exhaustion.

"But only because the Gamemakers are letting them," says Falco, making me jump because I hadn't realised he'd returned. "They're up to something."

"But what?"

"I don't know. But _they're _not going to be up to much for a while," he says, nodding at the images from the arena.

I follow the direction of his gaze to see our tributes and their allies stumbling around in the woods, trying desperately to hide the effect the fire has had on them from each other so they don't appear vulnerable even as they cough up smoke and surreptitiously assess the severity of their wounds.

Clove announces that they should return to the Cornucopia, and despite all that's happened, Marvel still feels the need to wind her up. However this time they don't come to blows and the pair from Two lead the others through the trees, together as they always are.

"Cashmere," hisses Falco, and I look at him immediately, more because I'm shocked to hear him call me Cashmere than for any other reason. "Look."

He nods in the direction of Haymitch Abernathy, who appears more than a little nervous despite how he's trying to hide it.

"I don't understand," I whisper back. "The Girl on Fire escaped being set on fire. What's his problem?"

Falco shrugs his shoulders slightly and leans across me to reach the control panel. My breath catches because of how close he is, just like it always does, but I scowl at him when he turns to look at me without moving back. He smirks and I keep scowling. It isn't my fault I react to him like that, it's his.

"That's his problem," he says, seeing Katniss on the screen at the same time as Glimmer sees her in the arena.

They've found her. Finally. Which I'm now sure is what the Gamemakers had wanted all along.

"It looks like we've found your girlfriend, Lover Boy," says Cato quietly as Clove seems to almost crouch down, every muscle in her body tensing. She looks like a cat ready to pounce. And Katniss Everdeen is her prey. I can't help feeling slightly sorry for her.

But then Marvel charges forwards and the others have to follow, all thoughts of creeping up on the girl from the coal district without her knowing they're there long gone. Soon they're all running, struggling to start again when they're still suffering the after effects of the fire.

"They've got her this time," shouts Augustus exultantly when Katniss climbs a tree and the Alliance surrounds it, the childish note in his voice abruptly making me remember that he's barely past reaping age himself. "Fire-girl's going down."

"How's everything with you?" calls the aforementioned 'Fire-girl', obviously trying to hide her fear and doing such a good job that I can't help thinking her acting skills at least wouldn't be out of place back home.

"Well enough," replies Cato, his tone conversational but his body language revealing his true feelings. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will."

"That's probably not the best solution to the problem," says Beetee from District Three, sounding almost conversational as he speaks for the first time in hours.

"We don't need your opinion, Volts," replies Augustus.

"It's a fact rather than an opinion," says Beetee, still in the same even, inoffensive tone of voice.

Sure enough, it doesn't take long for Cato to fall from the tree to land at Clove's feet when the branches can't take his weight. He doesn't even get close to Katniss, and his humiliation combines with his anger to make him curse violently in ways that I've never heard. Clove looks on in amusement, smiling at her district partner who isn't only her district partner, but when I look at Glimmer, she's already looking up at Katniss.

"She's annoying me now," she says, and I can tell from the expression on the girl from Twelve's face that she heard.

"Stay in the middle of the tree where the branches are thicker," says Clove as she realises what Glimmer's going to do. Then her eyes seem to light up as she continues. "I don't think your sponsors would appreciate seeing you fall out of a tree, Glimmer. You might ruin your hair."

"I'm not totally stupid, Clove," she replies with a sarcastic smile, but I can see the laughter in her eyes as well and it makes me exchange a worried look with Gloss. There's no room for friendship in the arena, especially not with a girl like Clove.

"Only almost totally," retorts the girl from Two, and Glimmer glares at her before approaching the tree.

However Katniss is soon able to breathe a small sigh of relief when it becomes apparent that Glimmer is no more able to reach her than Cato was. My tribute girl pulls the bow from her shoulder and attempts to shoot her target with her silver arrows, but she proves unable to get near her that way either.

Then Katniss reaches for the nearest arrow and starts waving it almost mockingly at her attackers. Haymitch laughs and Vikus growls angrily. I just stare at the screen and hope one of them will put an end to this soon.

"Why are they leaving her up there?" asks Gloss once it's become clear that nobody can make a decision about what to do next. "Glimmer told me about Clove and her knife throwing. Can't she just…you know, throw a knife at her?"

I don't answer him because I don't really have an answer to give. I don't understand why Clove doesn't use the skills she so obviously has to put an end to one of her biggest threats any more than he does.

"Where's the entertainment in that?" says Falco dryly, echoing the words spoken by Varia only seconds earlier as they decide to leave Katniss where she is for now. Though I don't think it's as simple as that, I begin to understand a bit better.

* * *

><p>It's just starting to get light when I lift my head from Gloss's shoulder and refocus on the arena. As I had been here in the Control Room, the tributes I immediately see on screen are all asleep around the foot of the tree they surrounded in order to prevent Katniss from escaping them. Even Glimmer is asleep despite how she is supposed to be the one on guard.<p>

Though we decided not to wake her earlier, I'm now starting to think it would be better if we did. If Cato or Clove notice her neglecting her duty then there's sure to be trouble, especially if the girl from District Twelve attempts to get away.

"We should send her something," I tell Gloss. "She needs to wake up."

"She's exhausted. Everdeen's not going anywhere and the rest of them are asleep so they won't notice if she rests for a while."

"Cato's not asleep," I reply, gesturing to the main screen as it zooms in on the face of the man from Two, showing him looking down at Clove in the dim dawn light, as alert as he was when the starting gong sounded.

"Fine. We'll send her something."

He reaches forward for the control panel but stops along with everyone else when a strange scraping sound fills the otherwise silent room.

"What's that?" asks a very sleepy-looking Finnick Odair as he takes off his coat and sits down. He's been away all night and I can't bear to look at him because doing so only makes me imagine the reason why.

"I don't know," replies Vikus, who barely leaves the Control Room and doesn't appear to need to eat or sleep.

The noise continues as the vast majority of the screens show either Glimmer and her allies or the tree they surround, but even when I look closely, I can see nothing but shadows through the leaves. I look at Falco at the same time as he looks at me, and I know we share the same puzzled expression.

Then there's a crashing sound and a loud thud as something hits the ground in the arena. My first thought is that it's Katniss making a desperate bid for freedom, but I quickly realise it's something a lot deadlier than her.

The air is suddenly full of tracker jackers, their buzzing seeming to get louder and louder as it mingles with the shouts and cries of their victims. I watch helplessly as the muttations continue their merciless attack, knowing it must have been Katniss who caused it.

"Run!" shouts Gloss as he pushes his chair back and half stands up. "Please, Glimmer. Run," he continues, his voice suddenly as soft as if he were standing right beside her.

Cato sets Clove on her feet before she's even awake, putting himself between her and the tracker jacker nest for the few seconds it takes her to become aware enough of the situation to run. However Glimmer isn't so lucky. She was right at the foot of the tree and the nest fell between her and her route of escape.

We watch as she's stung over and over again as she tries to flee, and when the rest of her allies head towards the lake she tries to follow. But she doesn't get very far before she crashes to the floor, her whole body twitching horrifically.

I stare at her image that fills the screen in front of me, trying to close my ears to her desperate cries for help because I know they'll stop me from thinking clearly. But then the sound of breaking glass suddenly makes me look to the side. The finely made champagne flute that had been on the table is now in a million pieces on the floor directly underneath Gloss's tightly clenched fist. He pays no heed to the blood dripping through his fingers, his eyes never leaving Glimmer. He doesn't even blink.

"Gloss," I say, repeating his name over and over again, trying to get him to look at me.

I grasp his arm but he continues to ignore me, so I reach for the control panel and the monitor instantly lights up. There's still a heart rate showing on Glimmer's side of the screen. It's racing fast but she's alive. Her cannon hasn't fired so it isn't over yet. It can't be.

"Falco, what do I do? I need to get her out of there. Tell me what to do."

I scan the list of available sponsorship gifts when he doesn't immediately respond, searching for something to help her. But then it occurs to me that I've got no way of getting it to her because she's barely conscious. Even if I could send her some medication to help her, she'd never be able to take it. If only I could get her moved to the lake…

But I can't do that either. It's never been done before. And even if I could find a way to move her, none of her so-called allies would care enough or be stupid enough to help her. For a second my mind wanders to the grass fields on the other side of the Cornucopia. Rightly or wrongly, I don't think Thresh would find it easy to let her die. I don't know why I'm so sure of that but I am. Then I shake my head, telling myself I'm being ridiculous.

"Falco," I repeat, my voice sounding slightly hysterical now, even to my own ears. "Falco, what do I do?"

He moves around the desk to stand beside me, resting his hand firmly on my shoulder.

"It's too late, Butterfly," he says, his words barely audible. "There's nothing you can do. It's too late."

I know he speaks the truth but I don't want to hear it. I look back at Gloss. He hasn't moved.

"Gloss, look at me." He doesn't. "Gloss," I repeat, trying to ignore the tears trickling down my face and sound commanding enough to snap him out of his trance. He still doesn't so much as blink.

The main camera zooms in on Glimmer again, and she's virtually unrecognisable. The countless wounds left behind by the tracker jackers have swollen so much that the features of her beautiful face have gone, and the perfect body the whole of Panem saw on Interview Night is now just a distant memory.

Her cannon fires before I can say anything and Gloss falls back into his chair, his expression blank and his eyes full of an emptiness that terrifies me more than any other reaction would ever have done. I wish he would scream. I wish he would smash something. I wish he would do anything but sit there with that dead look in his eyes.

Then a hand reaches across Glimmer's body on the screen and that look of emptiness is abruptly replaced by one of such rage that even I shrink away. The camera pans out enough to show Katniss struggling to take Glimmer's silver bow and arrows, clawing and pulling at my dead tribute girl when she can't get them free, heedless of the damage she's causing.

"Leave her," hisses Gloss under his breath, and after a second I realise he's talking to Katniss. "Leave her alone or I won't rest until you're dead."

"Gloss, please," I whisper, grasping his arm again as Katniss shields Glimmer to stop the hovercraft from taking her away before she can take the weapon. "She's dead. There's nothing we can do."

Katniss pulls the bow away at the same time as Gloss jerks violently to his feet, sending his chair flying backwards across the room. He yanks his arm free of my grip without saying a word before turning as if to walk away. I call after him, and I almost start to feel relief when he turns back, but then I see the look in his eyes.

He pulls his tightly clenched fist back and slams it into Katniss's image on the monitor. The sound of his skin connecting with the glass seems to echo around the room endlessly, but when I look, the screen is still intact. Drops of Gloss's blood trail down its surface but he doesn't stop to notice. He doesn't even glance at me before he runs, ignoring the gasps of the other mentors, the shrieks of the few escorts who are up at this time in the morning, and my desperate call for him to come back.

I immediately jump up from my chair and start to follow him but Falco stops me. I turn around to face him again because I know what he's going to say. He's going to say I should stay here, that Glimmer might be dead but Marvel is still alive and he'll need all the support I can give him if he survives the effects of the tracker jacker venom. However I don't care, not when Gloss has gone Panem knows where after watching what he's just witnessed.

"I have to go after him," I say flatly.

"I know," he replies softly. "But there are others who will say your place is here, you know that."

I nod, knowing he's right. "I'm still going after him, Falco. He's my brother. I can't leave him."

I turn back to the screen while I wait to see what he says, but I don't really see the picture. All I can see is Glimmer. Beautiful, distant, ice-cold Glimmer who I came to care about despite how I told myself I wouldn't. The Capitol prized her for her stunning looks and yet ultimately she was left to die on the floor of the arena, swollen, disfigured and broken, all for their entertainment. They will have thought of how ugly she looked as she died, but to me she was still beautiful. It is those who put her there who are truly ugly.

"I'll stay here," says Falco, interrupting my thoughts. "If anyone asks where you are then I'll cover for you, but they'll know what I'm doing because I'm sure they're listening to us right now. They'll only go along with the façade for so long."

It's true what he says, both about our Control Room conversations being monitored and about how the officials overseeing this side of the Games will expect us back here very quickly. Mentors aren't supposed to care for their tributes. We are from the districts so we aren't capable of having the same feelings as them, we don't have the same emotions. That's what they tell themselves anyway. They tell themselves so many times that most of them accept it so totally that they genuinely have no idea they couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'll be back," I say. "But I have to find him."

I take one last look up at the screens as I leave, looking for long enough to see Marvel crawling from the lake on his hands and knees as the tracker jacker venom slowly overpowers him. Another television, one of the nearest larger ones, shows a slightly shaky-looking Cato and even shakier-looking Clove confronting a wounded and barely upright Peeta somewhere in the trees that surround the Cornucopia.

I don't stop to watch but turn and run instead, racing out through both sets of doors as soon as they open wide enough for me to get through. I don't give anyone a chance to stop me. I don't even stay to see if anyone tries to.

* * *

><p>Once I get outside it soon becomes very obvious that Gloss also came this way only moments before. The buzzing sound of the vast crowd of reporters, photographers and camera crews all talking together fills my ears, getting louder and louder after they've seen me.<p>

I push past them all, ignoring the increasingly desperate shouts of my name, which are all followed by demands to know my reaction to Glimmer's death. Do they really have to ask? Is it not perfectly obvious that I'm not going to want to talk right now? Is it not perfectly obvious from my tear-stained eyes that I feel nothing but grief?

I continue along the path, quickly beginning to run when I realise most of them are following me. I might not be in the same condition as I was when I won the Games, but I'm in a better state than all of them and I soon leave them far behind. They've been to far too many feasts and banquets and it really shows.

I stop when I approach the final turn towards the Training Centre, peering cautiously around the corner. As soon as I do, I'm grateful that I did. The Capitolians there are either leaning casually against the wall or standing in small groups, chatting amongst themselves. They haven't seen me and Gloss clearly didn't get this far. So where has he gone?

I scan the area around me, trying to look past the trees and uniformly planted hedges, but the sound of the rapidly approaching reporters reaches me again and I know I have to move. Heading blindly through the only gap in the shrubbery I think I'll fit past, I get myself out of their sight and allow them to race along the path before I double back and resume my search for Gloss.

I want to call out to him but I know I can't, and at least half an hour passes before I notice the path created in the grass by someone's feet. It leads to what looks like a small wooden gazebo, hidden amongst the trees, and despite my concern for my brother and the images of Glimmer's final moments that flash ceaselessly through my mind, the first thought I have is to wonder why it's here.

The Gamemakers have the first floor of the Control Room and that makes this place theirs as well. How many decisions about the arena have been made here? Is this somewhere they come because they know nobody else will be listening in? Is this where they made the decision to allow Katniss to drop the tracker jacker nest on the Alliance?

"Gloss?" I whisper, pushing that thought from my mind. "Gloss? It's me. Are you here, Gloss?"

I get no response but I somehow know he's there so I edge around the wooden walls until I get to the entrance. I feel like I've gone back in time seven years when I see him sitting on the floor, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. The blank, void expression on his face is identical to the one that haunts my nightmares, the one I saw when they brought him back to me from the arena.

"Look at me," I tell him, but he doesn't. He doesn't even blink.

I walk over to him but he still doesn't move. I crouch down beside him and he still doesn't look at me. When I put my arms around him as much I can given the awkward angle, he tenses and says nothing. However I refuse to let go and eventually, after what could be an hour or only a minute, he collapses against me, suddenly gripping me so tightly that I can barely breathe.

"Glimmer," he says, and for a horrible second I think he's confusing me with the woman he lost, but then he continues. "Cash, she's dead. I watched her die and I did nothing."

"There was nothing you could have done. You couldn't have saved her."

"I loved her."

"I know," I reply, letting him hold me because I don't know what to say.

All I can hear in my mind is Falco's voice, telling me as he did before the Games started that if Glimmer dies in the arena then Gloss will never have the chance to discover if his love for her is real and lasting so he will grieve for her forever.

"Everyone I love dies, Cash," he says. "Everyone but you. You won't leave me, will you?"

"I'll never leave you, little brother," I reply, all the time hoping I'm not lying to him.

We sit there on the floor for hours, listening to the rain hitting the roof every time it starts only for it to stop again a few minutes later. Neither of us says a word until I finally remember what Falco said when I left the Control Room this morning.

"We have to go back," I whisper, and when Gloss lifts his head from my shoulder I suddenly shiver with cold.

"No," he says flatly, looking at me properly for the first time since I found him here.

"We have to."

"Why? Glimmer's dead. There's nothing left."

"Marvel's left," I reply. "We owe it to him and to District One to try to bring him home."

"I can't, Cash. I can't go back in there. And if another reporter starts asking me questions then I'll-"

"No, you will not!" I shout, gratified when I see him jump slightly in response to my reaction. Any response is better than no response at all. "You will get up and follow me back to the Control Room willingly because if you don't then _they _will make you. Do you want Victory dead? Satin might be too important and useful to them but her little daughter isn't. You know how it works, Gloss. You co-operate or they hurt you and those you love. So please, come with me."

I stand up and hold my hand out to him, not withdrawing it even though he sits there staring up at me for several minutes. But then he entwines his fingers with mine and pushes himself up.

"Hide your feelings," I tell him, wondering when exactly it was that I became the strong one. "Hide your grief and your rage behind a mask. Bury it so deep that they'll never know it's there and then they can't steal it away. It won't be for long. It'll be over soon and then they'll let us go home."

"For how long? How long before I'm back here again and pretending I'm a willing participant in some rich Capitolian's sick fantasy? How long, Cash?" he says, his voice getting louder and louder as he backs me against the wall.

"I don't know," I reply, suddenly unable to see through the tears I can't hold back. "I don't know."

Then abruptly our roles have changed and it's him who is comforting me. I would have fallen to the floor but he catches me and holds me in his arms until I have no tears left to shed.

It takes a long time but when I finally feel strong enough to stand, I reluctantly pull away from him. He looks at me and I look at him.

"Please, Gloss," I whisper. "For Marvel."

"No, Cash, I can't," he replies, "not for him. But I'll do it for you."

* * *

><p>I dread to think what we must look like as we rejoin the main pathway, stumbling along hand in hand, our clothes creased and dusty and our eyes red from crying. The Capitolians see us instantly, almost like they've been waiting for us even though we've been gone for many hours. They crowd us and call out questions but I ignore them and tell Gloss to do the same. The Control Room seems a million miles away but eventually we get there. We have to almost fight our way inside, and in the end I think it's only the deadly expression on Gloss's face that makes them finally back away.<p>

The first person I see is Falco and I can see how much he's struggling to stay in his chair when his eyes meet mine. Gloss's grip on my hand suddenly tightens, as if he knows how much I want to run across the room to the simultaneously safe and so very dangerous refuge of Falco's arms.

My brother's presence is enough to make me force myself to walk calmly back to the District One station by his side. I'm so close to him that I can feel him shaking, but when I look at him his face is a mask and I'm sure nobody else will be able to tell what he's feeling. Falco couldn't save him in the same way he saved me. My brother has been forced to become a better actor than I could ever be.

"Marvel's unconscious and so are most of the others," says Falco, following our lead and pretending nothing is wrong.

I glance up at the wall of photographs and see that Varia's picture is now in sepia, just like that of the boy next to her. Both of District Four's tributes are dead. Just like Glimmer. Her face looks back at me from the wall, muted in the sea of colour that surrounds her, and I have to turn away. My eyes find Gloss, but he doesn't notice. His eyes don't leave Glimmer's image.

"I was waiting for you to come back but I need to go and see Phoebe," whispers Falco. "She said she'd sponsor Marvel and I think he'll need the help when he wakes up. He'll only have a chance if he can get away from Cato and Clove before they're awake enough to think about killing him."

"Go," I tell him, knowing this is the only thing I can do for our remaining tribute at the moment. "Gloss and I will stay here."

He nods and smiles before he walks towards the door and I watch him go. However when I see who enters the room I begin to wish I hadn't. Johanna Mason, the girl from District Seven who won her Games by pretending to be weak and convincing her opponents she was no threat. When the time came she revealed her ability to kill viciously and with no remorse, became the Victor quickly after that, and has taken every opportunity to annoy and provoke me ever since. I loathe her with a passion and the feeling has always been mutual.

"You know, in the past they called a whore a painted lady because they were the only people who bothered to wear makeup. Seems like the same's true now," says Johanna, doing just what I hoped she wouldn't do and walking straight towards Gloss and I.

"I'm nobody's whore, District Seven," I snap, forcing myself to remain in my seat as I glare up at her.

"Well someone's defensive," she replies, speaking in that mocking sing-song voice I've always despised as she grins down at me.

"How do you expect me to react when you say such things?" I say, wishing she'd just go away.

"Well that depends if they're true or not, doesn't it?"

"You don't know what's true and what isn't. You don't know the first thing about me."

"I know enough," she replies, confirming to me that it's unlikely she knows anything at all.

She assumes that I'm still under Snow's control and she's trying to hurt me. I smirk back at her to show her it isn't having the effect she desires.

"Really? So what do you know, Johanna Mason?" I say scathingly, not at all convinced that she isn't still the scared little girl she was pretending to be in the arena underneath all her bravado.

"You heard me."

"No, I don't think I did," I reply, hoping she'll dare to say it out loud so I'll have an excuse to take some of the anger I've felt ever since Glimmer fell in the arena out on her.

"So, how much did your escort pay for you? Must be quite a lot if he's a repeat customer."

I jerk my head up sharply, not thinking she'd stoop as low as that. I look around the Control Room, hoping that people are more focussed on the arena than they are on us. Predictably, not a single one of them is looking at their computer screen. All eyes and ears are on us.

"You know nothing about him," I hiss, gripping the desk as tightly as I can to stop myself from doing something the Peacekeepers might force me to regret later.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. Why don't you try and be sensible for once, Mason? Why don't you try thinking before you speak?"

"Oh yeah, sensible like thinking every darkened room is really out to get you. No, wait, you do think that."

For the first time since she walked into the room, I feel Gloss react. His back stiffens and he grips the arms of his chair until his knuckles turn pure white. I don't have to look at his face to know the fury I'd see in his eyes if I did.

"But at least I have someone to convince me it isn't," I reply before my brother has chance to speak, scowling back at her as I try not to think about the arena that still gives me nightmares nearly a decade after I physically left it behind. I can tell from the expression on her face that I hit a raw nerve and I lean back on my chair in satisfaction.

"Better alone than surrounded by people like you."

"Suit yourself. I know whose position I'd rather be in," I reply, unable to stop myself from laughing at her discomfort.

She glares at me and turns away, making me breathe a sigh of relief. I'd never back down in front of someone like Johanna Mason but that doesn't mean I'm looking for a fight. Her cousin died in the arena and she wants someone to take her anger out on, I know that, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to indulge her, not when Glimmer died only hours ago.

However just because I don't want a fight, that doesn't mean Gloss shares my opinion. I don't think the fact Glimmer is never coming back is something he's allowing himself to acknowledge yet, but it must have sunk in on some level because he's barely let go of me since Katniss Everdeen dropped the tracker jacker nest that caused his lover's death, as if he thinks literally holding on to me will keep me safe. Normally an insult given to me by someone as insignificant as the girl from District Seven wouldn't affect him, but he's spoiling for a fight as much as Johanna and his grief is every bit as raw as hers.

"Why are you even here, Mason?" he calls, drawing her attention back to us. I tighten my grip on his wrist, hoping my touch will anchor him to his chair. "Your tributes are dead."

"Because I wanted the pleasure of your company, of course," she replies, speaking through gritted teeth with an expression that tells me Gloss's words hurt her a lot more than mine did.

"I'll tell you what I think," he replies, his vicious smirk not reaching his eyes. When I see that look, I barely recognise him. "I think you're thinking about how the boy you mentored died at the bloodbath. I think you're angry and you're taking it out on us."

It takes several seconds for her to reply to that and I don't loosen my grip on Gloss's arm, not even slightly. I can feel him trembling with barely suppressed rage and I wish with all my heart that Johanna would have the sense to leave. However it's not to be and she doesn't take the hint.

"How do you know about that anyway?"

"Falco," I reply, stating the obvious as I try to refocus her on me and give Gloss time to calm down. "Who was he, anyway?" I ask, knowing full well that he was her cousin but deciding it will hurt her more if I pretend I don't. "Your boyfriend? Isn't he a bit young for you, District Seven?"

"And isn't your boy-toy a bit too old for you, Blondie?" she replies, the look in her eyes telling me how much she grieves no matter how she's trying to hide it. "And he was my cousin, Capitol Clone."

"Oh, sorry. My mistake. And I doubt even you will need help to find the contradiction in your first sentence."

She glares at me once again but she doesn't speak, once again making me think she's getting bored and will move on in search of an easier target. How wrong could I be?

"And you know what I think, de Montfort Junior? I think you're annoyed that tribute girl you were in lust with just died, and you're stuck watching the one that's more to Johan Taly's taste than yours. How old was she anyway? Fourteen? You're practically a cradle robber."

I yank Gloss's arm backwards as hard as I can but it isn't enough. After that, it was never going to be enough. He jumps up, considerably taller than Johanna now they're both standing, and as his chair slides rapidly backwards into Vikus and Augustus's desk, everyone in the room turns their attention back to us as they wait for the fight that is now surely inevitable to begin.

"She was eighteen," Gloss snarls, "and I wouldn't expect someone like you to know the difference between lust and love so I won't dishonour her memory by trying to explain."

"Oh yeah, so it was love instead?" replies Johanna as she slowly backs towards the door. "Snow, Gloss, grow up. You can't fall in love after less than a week."

She's barely finished her last words before she turns and walks away, leaving Gloss staring after her, his hands clenched into tight fists, every muscle in his body visibly tense. I get up and move to stand behind him, nodding to the person who slides his chair towards me and looking quickly away when I find sea green eyes staring back at me.

"Gloss? Gloss, let's go outside for a minute," I whisper, using both of my hands to uncurl the fingers of one of his. "Marvel is fine. He doesn't need us right now."

I walk forwards, walking into him to make him move towards the doors. When I take his hand, he follows me willingly and without resistance. It's almost like he's not there at all, but I grit my teeth and keep walking, knowing we'll have to face the cameras before we can get anywhere even vaguely private.

I'm almost on automatic pilot, and before I know it we're back in the wooden gazebo again. I sit down on the bench inside and pull Gloss down next to me. He doesn't resist.

"We'll get through this, little brother," I tell him, tears forming in my eyes when he puts his arms around me and squeezes me tight.

"At least they can't get to her," he whispers. "Wherever she is now, it's somewhere where they can't hurt her."

"You have to remember that," I reply, thinking at the same time that they might not be able to hurt her but they can still hurt us. And I don't know how much more we can take before we finally break.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

It's the following morning when the first tribute finally regains consciousness, and much to the relief of Marcus Arrowsmith and the dismay of virtually everyone else in the Control Room, that tribute is Lysandra Newton from District Five. The flame-haired girl most of the mentors have taken to calling 'Fox', a shortened version of Katniss's 'Foxface', looks more than a little unsteady as she stumbles through the forest, but it's still obvious that she's heading back to the lake. Where Marvel and his remaining allies are lying more or less out in the open, unconscious and totally powerless.

"She's got a knife," I whisper to Falco, keeping my voice down so Marcus doesn't hear me even though the logical part of my mind tells me there's nothing he could do if he did. "She could take them all out in less than two minutes."

He says nothing but the tension in his back and shoulders tells me he's thinking the same. Vikus's hands are clenched into tight fists and even Augustus is uncharacteristically silent. I bet the Capitol hasn't seen anything this funny for years. The most powerful and deadly tributes in the arena, all at the mercy of the tiny girl from the laboratory district who looks like a good gust of wind would blow her away. I bet they're loving this.

However once she reaches the Cornucopia, it very quickly becomes obvious that Lysandra's mind is on survival rather than killing. She stops a short distance away from the golden horn, looking across at the pile of supplies as if she can't believe her luck.

"Any second now, Arrowsmith," taunts Augustus, abruptly regaining his usual self-assurance. "Boom!"

I turn to look at District Five's mentor as he sits alone at his desk. I can see him shaking even from this distance. His eyes never leave Lysandra and I can see he fears that the taunts of the man from District Two are about to become reality.

"No," says Wiress softly, temporarily dragging her gaze from her monitor, which I'm sure shows her tribute boy lying unconscious by the lake. "She can see."

That is probably the closest the woman from District Three has ever got to finishing a sentence in my presence, and it's enough to make me watch Lysandra again. The camera zooms in to focus on her strange amber eyes before zooming out again as soon as she takes a step forwards. However after that first tentative step, she stops dead and doesn't move again.

"She can see," whispers Falco, echoing Wiress's words. "She knows."

Sure enough, the girl turns and walks away from the supplies, looking back regretfully as she goes. She doesn't see Marvel or any of the others, and I can almost feel some of the tension leave the room as a result.

"She's smart but all that means is she'll starve to death instead of being blown to pieces."

"I wouldn't bet on that," replies Marcus, speaking with a new confidence that's almost visible.

"Where's Gloss?" asks Falco, relying on the buzz resulting from all of the remaining mentors and escorts discussing what's just happened to drown out his voice.

"Back at the Training Centre," I reply with a glare in the direction of the unoccupied District Seven station. "Johanna Mason was being evil and she got to him. He hasn't come back in here since. He says he doesn't trust himself not to lose it."

"If you want to go back then go. Check he's all right. I'll wait here."

"I can't really do anything. He barely slept at all last night and when he did he was calling out for Glimmer. Or Sapphire," I add sadly. "He needs to go home."

"Go. Honestly. You can't help Marvel when he's unconscious."

* * *

><p>I did as Falco suggested, but when got to Level One and I saw that Gloss was finally asleep, I left him alone so I didn't disturb him. I told the servant who was there to get a message to me when he woke up and then headed straight back here to the Control Room. District One won't thank me if Marvel dies a preventable death while I'm in the Training Centre watching my brother sleep. And besides, I'd never forgive myself.<p>

"Look," says Falco as soon as I cross the massive room to sit down beside him.

I stare open mouthed along with every other mentor watching as a grimly determined looking Lysandra slowly makes her way through the minefield, her face contorted with concentration.

"She's lost her mind," gasps Seeder. "She's going to trigger the mines."

As I watch the girl slowly edging forwards, I can't help but agree with the woman from Eleven. I hold my breath over and over again with every move Lysandra makes and only release it when she lives to take another step. I can't see how she can possibly get to the supplies without setting off the mines. I can't see how one who is supposedly so smart can be stupid enough to try.

But try she does and not a single mine explodes. Minutes later she's filling her pack with food and minutes after that she's racing back towards the trees. I've never seen anything like it before and I'm sure the Capitol hasn't either. It's no surprise when the Control Room attendants appear in the doorway almost instantaneously, beckoning imperiously to Marcus.

"They smell a surprise victory," says Augustus in a low voice. "And they might get it if that venom doesn't wear off soon."

"I can live in hope that they might remember where they are when they eventually wake up," says Vikus, scowling at the image of Cato and Clove lying curled up in each other's arms in the shadow of the Cornucopia.

"Love stories win support here," I venture, not really sure why I'm speaking to them but carrying on nevertheless. "Genuine ones, anyway," I add, glancing over at Haymitch Abernathy in disgust.

"Love in the arena wins only death," Vikus replies disgustedly. "I thought they understood that but they're pathetic. Look at them."

I do as he says, watching as Cato shakes his head forcefully in his sleep and then pulls Clove even tighter against him. I wouldn't call them pathetic. Doomed, perhaps, but not pathetic. At least their love is genuine, which is more than can be said for District Twelve. They abandoned each other quicker than you can say 'betrayal', even if the Capitol are too blind to see it. And look at them now.

"Are any of them looking like waking up?" I ask Falco, scanning the screens around me.

He shakes his head. "Katniss is just lucky it's only the little girl who's found her hiding place. Marvel's out cold still."

"Let's hope he wakes up before District Two then," comes a familiar voice from behind me a split second before an equally familiar pair of hands settle on my shoulders.

"Gloss. You're here."

"Hello Cash," he replies softly.

"How are…it's good to see you," I say, changing my mind mid-sentence as I decide 'How are you?' is a stupid question to ask.

He almost smiles but then his expression suddenly changes before he can. He nods brusquely back at the screen and I immediately turn to see that Lysandra is back at the Cornucopia. When she was there before she was preoccupied with the supplies, but this time she has a very different target. This time she has her knife in her hand and is standing mere metres away from Marvel and his remaining allies.

The same grimly determined expression she had before is now directed at Cato and Clove rather than at the minefield that surrounds the supplies. She takes first one step and then another with much the same hesitation but I'm eventually convinced she's actually going to do it. The wide-eyed terror on her face tells me she doesn't want to, but she raises the knife all the same.

Then Clove moves, shifting in Cato's arms to bury her face against his jacket collar. The lethal girl from District Two doesn't wake, but Lysandra freezes and then she begins to back away. She can't do it. She'll never get a better opportunity to save her own life and she can't do it. She can't kill. Or maybe she just can't bring herself to kill those who are as defenceless as her opponents are right now.

"It's ironic when you think what would happen if their positions were reversed," says Gloss, his voice so quiet I barely hear him.

"Maybe she'll find your boy easier to kill, de Montforts," says Augustus, making Gloss and I look away from each other to see the girl from District Five raise her knife again, this time approaching Marvel.

"Wake up," breathes Falco as he stares unblinkingly up at the screen. "Wake up, stupid boy, wake up."

I put my hand over his under the desk and instead of pushing me away like he normally would in public, he links his fingers with mine and doesn't let go. I suddenly wonder how he came to care so deeply for Marvel, but then I begin to think I should be wondering when I became so numb that I barely feel anything.

In the end it isn't Marvel who wakes up but Cato, and as soon as he moves, Lysandra flies back to the relative safety of the trees. If I was in her place then I'd have killed Marvel before I ran. She still had time, she could have done it, but she didn't. I can't help thinking that could be the difference between life and death for her. Part of me hopes I'm wrong. All of me is sick of this pointless death and destruction.

* * *

><p>The other unconscious tributes woke up shortly after Cato, and when I left the Control Room last night, Marvel, the pair from Two and the terrified-looking boy from District Three were returning to their camp after a very half-hearted attempt at going hunting. The tracker jacker venom clearly hadn't worn off completely and they looked fit for nothing, even the seemingly inexhaustible Cato and Clove. One look at them all told everyone watching that there would be no more cannons firing any time soon, so Falco and Gloss had told me to get some sleep.<p>

About an hour later I was woken from yet another horrific nightmare by my brother gently shaking my shoulder. We've lain here hand in hand and staring up at the ceiling ever since, and it's well past dawn now.

"I have to go back. They won't like it if Falco's there on his own for too long."

"He's Falco, he can do what he likes," replies Gloss, his voice suddenly flat and monotone. "We all know Marvel's not coming out of there alive anyway."

I sit up so I can look down into his eyes when he says that. "That doesn't mean it's right to abandon him," I reply, hating how I know that deep inside I'm thinking the same thing.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to say it like that."

"I know," I tell him, squeezing his hand. "Stay here and get some rest. I'll come back later."

"I wish he'd been in her place when the tracker jacker nest fell," he says, almost speaking to himself as much as to me. "I wish with all my heart that he'd died and she'd lived. How can it be right for me to be in the Control Room watching him and calling myself his mentor when I think that?"

The light in his eyes seems to fade at the mention of Glimmer, and I shake my head sadly. Our reasons might not be the same, but he's not the only one who wished she had lived.

"Stay here," I repeat, not really knowing what else to say. "As long as one of us is there then they won't say anything, but I have to go now."

I lean down and kiss his forehead lightly. He closes his eyes, and I know he does it because he doesn't want me to see how upset he is. It's too late. I saw the tears he refuses to shed forming in his eyes and the tension in the mouth that hasn't smiled since Glimmer fell. I turn away and leave the room, knowing that if I don't go now then I'll stay here until the Gamemakers themselves come to fetch me just so he isn't alone.

* * *

><p>I'm walking down the path that leads back to the Control Room building when I see him. Considering he's a naturally large Capitolian man who obviously also has the tendency to have second helping at meals far more often than he should, I'm surprised and annoyed with myself that I nearly walk past him. Especially as he's dressed in the deep purple robes of a Gamemaker.<p>

"Miss de Montfort," says Plutarch Heavensbee when my eyes briefly meet his.

He inclines his head politely and I make myself nod back, fighting the urge to tell him that I know about his involvement in the latest rebellion plot and to demand to know what he's planning. I'm sure my knowledge must show on my face, but if he knows of my involvement, slight as it is, then he gives no sign of it as he continues on down the path.

I stare after him for a couple of minutes, not wanting to follow too closely behind in case anyone who might be watching thinks it suspicious. I don't want to talk to him anyway so it isn't difficult to remain standing on the edge of the path until he vanishes around the corner.

"We have to stop meeting like this," calls a familiar voice from behind me just as I start walking again.

"Not today, Narissa," I reply, spinning around to face the direction the voice came from.

She's standing there on the other side of the path, staring across at me with her big green eyes. I've never thought about it before, but now the first thing I notice is that they're much darker than Glimmer's were. The second thing I immediately notice is that she looks different somehow. Her hair hangs in loose waves around her shoulders and her blue dress is so long that it covers her knees. She looks younger. She looks nothing like the ruthless predator I'm used to arguing with. However the retort I get back is spoken in a tone that's all the Narissa I've always known.

"Not today what?"

"I can't deal with this now."

"Don't worry, Cashmere. You're not for sale today," she replies, smirking as she looks me up and down in that way she has that makes me think she wishes I was.

"I'm not for sale on any day," I snap back, turning to walk away and then changing my mind. "Don't you have better things to do than lurk around here?"

"No, I don't," she replies flatly. "There is nothing that could possibly matter more to me."

Something about the way she says that makes me stop and think, and when I suddenly remember who I just saw heading back towards the Control Room, I instantly put two and two together. She's here because she was meeting Heavensbee, deep in the gardens around the Training Centre where Gamemakers gather so their conversations can't be overheard.

"Shouldn't you be doing the job you're here to do?" she asks, her question telling me she can see my understanding on my face and is trying to ensure I don't say anything damaging in such a public place.

"I was on my way there when you stopped me. I've been so preoccupied with the Games that I haven't had time to do anything else," I continue, almost smiling when I see the whole meaning of my deliberately subtle remark isn't lost on her. I knew it wouldn't be. It's true that I've never liked her, but whenever Gloss or Falco have told me how clever she is I've always known better than to contradict them.

"A mentor's work is never done," she replies evenly.

"If you're one of those two lucky mentors then that's true, for a year at least," I say. "But I don't think that's going to be us this year."

"Is Gloss in there?" she asks, nodding in the direction of the Control Room.

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to see him."

"He doesn't want to see you," I snarl, put back on the defensive because I suspect there's only ever one reason why she wants to see my brother. "He doesn't need you either."

"He never needs me, Cashmere," she replies mildly. "But we're friends nevertheless. I know and I want to see him."

"Why?" I repeat, seeing from her expression that she means she knows about him and Glimmer.

"Where is he?"

"He's on our floor of the Training Centre. You can't go in there," I tell her smugly.

"I thought you'd know by now, Cashmere," she purrs as she steps slowly towards me until she's close enough to stand on her tiptoes and whisper in my ear. "I can go wherever I want to go."

I hiss at her in disgust and start to walk away again but she calls me back.

"I was going to show Gloss this," she says, "but you might as well see it as well. You've been in the Control Room so you won't have heard."

"Heard what?" I reply, reaching for the pieces of paper she holds out towards me.

She doesn't answer me so I look down to see a District One newspaper. I can't help laughing when I see the headline. 'As Smooth as Satin' rather than the more traditional 'as smooth as silk', and underneath that it says 'Satin de Montfort wins the support of her district and becomes mayor'. It's a couple of days old.

"Where did you get this?"

"Vespasian," replies Narissa. "You know what he's like when it comes to what goes on in your district."

I nod, continuing to read and only stopping to stare at the picture of my sister standing on the steps of the Town Hall with the heavy gold chain of office draped over her shoulders. I had no idea she was planning this but if I'd been less preoccupied with the Games then I'd have seen it coming. She might be a nobody to the Capitol but back home she grows more powerful every day. But why become the mayor? She's told me herself often enough that her three children, who are known to everyone else as Victory, Miracle and the jewellery workshop, are more than enough for her, so why? Why now? And more to the point, how? Nobody in Panem's districts is stupid enough to think their mayor is chosen by anyone who lives their side of the mountains that surround the Capitol.

I turn suspiciously back to Narissa, realising that she doesn't show an interest in anyone or anything unless there's something in it for her. But I can't very well ask her to explain herself here, even if I thought for one second that she would tell me anything in the first place.

"Seeing that will make Gloss happy," I say cagily, narrowing my eyes at her so she knows I know there's more going on here than first meets the eye.

"It's made a lot of people here happy as well," she replies, her tone just as guarded. "Your sister is very clever and very…aware of her position."

"As long as you always remember how clever she is," I tell her, forcing away the urge I suddenly have to scream at her to leave Satin alone. "She knows when she's being lied to and she isn't easily fooled."

"Why would that possibly concern me?" she asks with mock lightness as she suddenly reverts to her old self that I despise so much. "Your district-born sister is nothing to me."

This time she's the one who turns and walks away and I don't call her back. Perhaps she _can _find something to say to Gloss to ease his grief. For all that I dislike her, he always tells me they're friends of sorts and I get the impression that he trusts her even if he doesn't always like her. As my brother trusts only the smallest handful of people, I say nothing and let her carry on towards the Training Centre. I have no doubt that she'll find a way to get inside. I know her too well to think differently.

* * *

><p>After I've scowled at Narissa's retreating back until she disappears from sight, I practically run to the Control Room. I don't stop, especially not for the reporters who shout questions to me as I race past. They're mostly shouting about Katniss, asking what I think about her plans and if I think she will succeed. Hearing that makes me doubly convinced that I shouldn't stop. If I do then it won't take them long to work out that I haven't got a clue what they're talking about.<p>

Falco smiles slightly when he sees me and I anxiously make my way to his side, only pausing to glance up a the wall of tribute photographs to reassure myself that Marvel still lives. The arrogant smirking face that stares back at me is still illuminated in brilliant colour.

"How's Gloss?" he asks immediately, knowing me well enough to know that my brother is always my first priority.

"He was asleep," I tell him, not wanting to worry him by telling him the whole truth. "But I saw Narissa. She's got it into her head that she wants to see him."

"She might be good for him," he replies, and I notice that he doesn't question her ability to get inside the Training Centre even though she doesn't have permission to be there. "I've seen them together. They're friends. Really."

"How can they be friends if she buys him every month and uses him for sex?" I retort, scowling.

"You know the answer to that," he says evenly, not responding to the sudden harshness in my voice.

It's true what he says. I do understand. I've understood for years. She helps him deal with what he has to do in the Capitol and provides him with respite when she can, and if he sleeps with her then it's his choice. But that's his business, not mine. I've never asked him to explain himself concerning the Capitolian woman, not since that last night of his Victory Tour anyway. I promised myself that I wouldn't and I don't intend to break my promise, no matter how much I sometimes want to.

"What's happened in the arena?" I ask, changing the subject to something a little more appropriate considering where we are. "The reporters are all shouting about Katniss."

"District Ten is dead," he says, and sure enough, when I glance across the room at the District Ten station, I find it empty. "Cato and Marvel found him first thing this morning."

"And Clove and District Three? Katniss and Rue? Lysandra?"

"Clove was still at the Cornucopia. I think she and Cato want out and she was getting the boy to fetch the supplies. But then she heard the cannon and panicked. She knocked the boy out and ran to find Cato. Lysandra was metres away from them all when District Ten died but nobody saw her. She heard them coming and hid in a tree."

"And Katniss?" I prompt again.

"She's going to destroy the supplies."

"That'll be the end of her then. She'll walk straight into the minefield."

"She'll have to get past the others first. She's sent her little ally off to light fires and draw them away from the Cornucopia but I'm not convinced it'll work. Clove's smart. She'll guess it's a trap."

"Maybe," I reply. "But even if she does, will she have a choice? She is clever, so she'll know the Gamemakers won't let them stay at their camp forever. I reckon she'll be thinking about that and will decide they've got no choice but to investigate the fires anyway."

"We'll find out soon enough."

* * *

><p>However many hours later, we're still waiting. Katniss reached the Cornucopia a short time ago and then Lysandra arrived a couple of minutes later. Neither of them have any idea the other is so close. They're too preoccupied with watching the four tributes walking away from the supply pyramid and I'm finding it impossible not to do the same.<p>

Marvel doesn't look in bad shape really. He's managed to survive everything the arena's thrown at him and still has only burns, bruises and the remains of the tracker jacker stings rather than any real injuries. I'd be feeling relatively confident if it weren't for Cato and Clove, who are walking along a short distance away from him looking very much like they've been in the arena for a day rather than a week.

They obviously have the same burns and cuts and stings, but Cato's stride is still as solid and confident as ever and Clove still seems to glide silently along, her feather-light footsteps barely disturbing the ground. When Marvel walks he stumbles sometimes, and he was never silent or light on his feet, not even at the beginning.

The comparison scares me more than anything because it confirms what I already know in my heart to be true. It confirms that Marvel wouldn't be able to take on even one of the deadly pair from Two if they turned on him. And this is Cato and Clove. Everything I've heard and everything I've seen tells me there's never going to be only one of them.

"Look," says Falco, pointing up at the big screen.

I'm not the only one who does as he says, and when I do I see a thin line of smoke, clearly visible against the bright blue sky. The picture suddenly changes to show Rue racing away from the fire, back to the safety of the trees.

"They're going," I say, looking at the television that's showing Marvel and his allies as they prepare to leave their camp.

"And so am I," replies Falco. "If this works out for them then Marvel may need our help," he continues, nodding in the direction of Haymitch, Chaff and Seeder as they sit together on their side of the Control Room.

I smile and let him go even though I want nothing more than to tell him to stay. All I can do is watch as Lysandra repeats her incredible feat of walking through the minefield and Katniss does the same, no doubt using the other girl's actions to help her work out why the Alliance has left everything seemingly so undefended.

"It's mined," whispers the girl from the coal district eventually, and out of the corner of my eye I see Haymitch flop back in his chair in something that almost looks like relief.

"It took you long enough," I mutter to myself bad-temperedly. "Lysandra worked it out without any help at all."

"Talking to yourself, sister dearest?" says Gloss, interrupting my thoughts. "They say it's the first sign of madness, you know."

I spin my chair around so I can look at him, all thoughts of Katniss leaving my mind as quickly as they came. His hair's still wet from his shower and he's changed his clothes. He looks ten times better than he did, almost like his old self again, and though I'd never admit it even to myself, I can't help wondering if that's down to Narissa. I'd love to know what she said to him even though I wouldn't dream of asking.

"I think you'll find that my madness stems from having a little brother," I reply teasingly, pushing his chair away from the desk so he can sit down.

"She said she'd seen you," he says. "She said you looked uptight and worried."

"I wonder why?" I retort in a sarcastic whisper. "Can you imagine?"

"That's what I said," he replies, but there's a hint of lightness in his voice that wasn't there before. I only hope it lasts. "Has she worked it out about the mines yet?" he continues, scanning the wall of screens.

"She isn't the brightest jewel in the box but she got there eventually."

"That's a shame," he says, speaking so quietly that I barely hear him.

I don't know what to say so I wrap both of my arms around the nearest one of his and squeeze him tightly. Out of the corner of my eye I can see one screen that shows the four tributes walking through the woods, but virtually every other screen in the Control Room shows Katniss Everdeen as she draws an arrow from the quiver on her back and fits it into the bow. It takes a few attempts but when she hits a bag of apples and they all come crashing down, the mines simultaneously trigger and the noise from the resulting explosion fills both the arena and this room.

"The supplies," whispers Clove as the focus of the cameras changes to get the reaction of those who set the trap.

Cato doesn't say a word, his face abruptly angrier than I've ever seen it, and he immediately races off back towards the lake. Clove follows closely behind and Marvel pushes the boy from District Three along before starting to run as well. The cameras flash back to Katniss to show her crawling into the bushes just in time to avoid being seen.

"If there are no supplies to keep secure then I give the Alliance less than five minutes," I say to Gloss.

"He's not going to have the sense to see that, Cash," he replies, his words mixing in with Cato's shout of rage as he sees what little is left of the supply pyramid. "I'm sorry but he isn't."

I know I should try to think better of our tribute, but as I watch Cato taking his anger out on the remains of a few crates that almost survived the explosion, I find myself dreading what's going to happen next and hoping Marvel's end isn't too painful. I can't picture a scenario where he survives this, no matter how hard I try.

The whole room suddenly falls silent as Cato quickly finds a new target for his rage. That means Beetee's sharp intake of breath and Wiress's barely audible shriek of terror are all I hear as the man from District Two turns on the boy who swore he would keep the supplies safe.

"Run," says Wiress under her breath, but even as the boy thinks the same thing and tries to flee, I know it will do him no good. Beetee obviously sees that too, because I see him reach out and place his hand lightly on his fellow mentor's arm as if he's already consoling her in advance for something inevitable that hasn't quite happened yet.

Seconds later, Cato snaps the boy's neck with a single sharp twist and the cannon fires immediately. I glance at the District Two mentors, more because I can't bring myself to look at District Three, and see them both staring at the screen in front of them. Augustus looks vaguely shocked by the ease with which Cato just killed despite how he tries to hide it, but there's a savage glint in Vikus's eyes that tells me he's enjoying this far too much.

"Cato, stop," shouts Clove, putting herself between him and the woods as he tries to leave the camp.

"Not now, Clove," he growls back, trying unsuccessfully to sidestep her. She's that much lighter and quicker on her feet that it soon becomes apparent that he'll never succeed.

"Wait for the death recap. It's the only way we'll know. There's no point chasing a dead person," she replies, and I suddenly realise he wants to go into the woods because he thinks that whoever set off the mines is still alive.

Only one camera shows Katniss lying in the bushes, clearly unable to defend herself, and part of me wishes Cato would go in the other direction and find her. She's the one who dropped the tracker jacker nest on Glimmer, she's the one who just wiped out most of Marvel's chances. I can't bear the thought of her winning the Games.

"Listen to me!" screams Clove when Cato, blinded by his rage, pushes her out of the way.

Such is the size difference between them that he almost pushes her to the ground, but she doesn't seem to notice and is back in front of him again almost immediately, still refusing to let him past her.

"He's lost it," says Augustus, speaking with that amused tone back in his voice. "He's totally lost it. He's going to kill her."

Vikus laughs mockingly in disbelief. "Marcelli kill Jacia? He'd kill himself first."

I hear myself gasp as Cato lifts Clove off her feet and throws her out of his way, but I'm not surprised when she gets straight back up. She moves to stand in front of him again, this time reaching out to grasp his wrists so she can bring his hands up to her throat.

"What is she doing?" says Gloss, and it's then that I remember he doesn't know the truth about the two tributes from District Two.

"For Panem's sake, Cato! What are you going to do? Kill me as well?" shouts Clove, her eyes narrowed sharply. "Go on then! Do it if you think it will make you feel better!"

"Making him snap out of it," I reply to Gloss, unsurprised when the mere thought of killing his lover makes Cato's temper leave him instantly.

He stares at her as if he can't believe what just happened, shaking his head as he touches the bruises on her arms with a lightness that couldn't be further away from how roughly he touched her only moments before. She stares back at him, waiting for him to be able to meet her eyes, and eventually he does.

"I don't need an apology, Cato. I just need you to listen to me and wait for the death recap," she says, speaking more softly than I've ever heard her speak before. "Whoever set off the mines probably died anyway, but we need to know for sure."

"So we'll do that then," adds a very relieved-looking Marvel, making me exchange a glance with Gloss and roll my eyes.

When is he going to see that he's the very unnecessary third part in what's left of this year's Alliance? Cato and Clove neither want nor need him and this is the Hunger Games. It's only a matter of time before he unwittingly and unwillingly changes roles from ally to their latest target.

* * *

><p>Many hours later, Gloss and I are still watching the three tributes walking around and around the wooded part of the arena, continuing to hope that Marvel will eventually see sense and set out on his own. Ever since the death recap showed them that the person who destroyed their supplies survived the explosion, they've been searching for them, seeking their revenge. I look at them and see the exhaustion on their faces, remembering what it feels like to be on the other side of the camera lens to where I am now, remembering how the mental pain is worse than the physical pain could ever be.<p>

"Shall we try doing what you did with Diamond?" says Gloss, his eyes carefully not leaving the monitor in front of him. "Send him a bag of supplies and hope he's smart enough to get the hint."

"How…how do you know about that?" I stammer, horrified that he knows how I helped his district partner when he was in the arena. "She assumed Fortune sent her the bag and the Games recap didn't contradict her."

"I've always known, Cash," he replies with a smile and not even the vaguest hint of anger. "I know you better than I know myself and I know enough of Fortune to know that he wouldn't have thought of something like that."

"I never told you. I didn't want you to think I'd put her over you."

"I know you'd never do that," he says, his expression totally sincere. "I'd never blame you for wanting to help her if you could. She was from home. She was your tribute as well."

When he finally looks at me I smile back because I really don't know what to say. What can I say? He knows he means the world to me and that I only helped Diamond because doing so had no effect on him. Perhaps this is one of the occasions where I don't actually have to say anything at all.

"Do you think it will work?" I ask, changing the subject back to Marvel.

He shrugs his shoulders. "You can try. But I don't think he's seeing things clearly now. He's been in there too long. He doesn't see the danger he's in if he stays, only the danger he faces if he leaves."

"We'll wait for a while," I reply. "It'll achieve nothing if we send him something when District Two are with him." Then I glance up to check the arena and am surprised to see that the search has finally come to a temporary halt. "Wait. Gloss, look."

I point up at the screen in time for him to see Clove sink to the floor, leaning back against one of the trees as she decides she can't walk any further. Cato immediately picks her up again, refusing to stop searching but at the same time refusing to leave her behind.

"You can't stop here, Clove," he whispers, and I can't help smiling at the total lack of comprehension on Marvel's face as he watches them. I think the pair from Two would have to openly declare the love they feel for each other in front of the entire nation on the Flickerman Show before my tribute would see what is right in front of his eyes.

"Why not?" replies Clove, her legs giving out as she finally submits to her need to rest.

She falls into Cato, and though I have no doubt he could carry her around the arena for days without noticing her weight on his back, he concedes and lowers her to the ground before sitting down beside her. Marvel watches them for a couple of minutes but then Cato seems to remember that he's there and glares viciously at him, his expression a total contrast to the one he'd had when he'd looked at Clove.

"I'm not tired," says Marvel quickly, backing away fearfully even though his fellow tribute hasn't said a word yet. "I'm going to check my snares."

I exchange a look with Gloss when he says that. We can see from the screens that the traps he set in the woods using the ropes and nets he found in the Cornucopia haven't caught so much as a squirrel, never mind one of the other tributes, but for the first time in a long time I start to feel slightly more optimistic. Maybe he does see that he has to leave District Two behind if he's going to have even a small chance of leaving the arena alive. Maybe he's making excuses to Cato so he can get away when his two remaining allies are as close to being off their guard as they're ever likely to get.

"Now?" asks Gloss once Marvel is out of sight of the others.

"Not yet," I reply. "There'll be no need if he's left them already. Better to save the money for when he really needs it."

He nods in agreement and we spend the next few hours huddled in front of our relatively small desktop monitor, watching Marvel making his way around the woods while the rest of the Control Room and probably the rest of Panem as well watch Cato and Clove's almost fatal journey of exploration into the grass fields on the other side of the arena.

The main cameras seem to alternate between District Two and Katniss Everdeen's search for her little ally to begin with, but when Cato nearly dies in the grass fields and he and Clove abruptly abandon all pretence that they're no more than district partners, the attention is almost solely on them. The amount of support they get from the Capitol audience is so great that in the end Vikus has no choice but to give in and send them a sponsorship gift. They get the first proper meal they've had in days, but I see no evidence that they associate it with the recent change in their behaviour towards each other.

"Cash, he's going back to the Cornucopia," whispers Gloss, trying to keep any of the other mentors from hearing. I know he's talking about Marvel. "Why? Why is he doing that? They'll kill him."

I lean forwards and select a small pack that contains little more than a basic first aid kit and some fresh water. It's similar to the one I sent to Diamond seven years ago, meant to convey a message rather than serve any other real practical purpose. Seconds after I drag its image over to Marvel's photograph, a silver parachute appears in the arena and floats down to land at his feet.

He picks the pack up, examining it curiously, but in the end he puts it inside the larger bag on his shoulder and keeps going towards the Cornucopia. He's walked a long way today so he's a significant distance away, but it's still obvious where he's going.

"I'm sorry, Cash," whispers Gloss, putting his hand over mine under the desk.

"I should feel more," I reply. "He's going to die. I know it but I can't make myself feel anything."

He squeezes my fingers tightly but he doesn't say anything so I look back up at the main screen. That's when I see the focus is no longer on Cato and Clove but on Rue as she hurries through a small clearing lined with trees that seem to be just too far apart for her to jump between. All the time she's looking up, waiting for her opportunity to leave the ground, and I abruptly realise why the attention is on her just as she does.

Her tiny foot settles on the concealed net, making it instantly curl up on itself, trapping her inside it. She screams instinctively before she can stop herself, a high-pitched piercing cry that echoes around the arena and rings in my ears for far longer than it should. She screams for Katniss and the girl from the coal district appears as if from nowhere, desperately shouting her ally's name as if doing so can help her get there quicker.

"No," gasps Gloss, "he wouldn't. Not like this. Not Rue. Leave her. Everdeen. It has to be Everdeen."

He speaks just as Marvel bursts into the clearing a split second ahead of Katniss. He must have heard her shouting but he's clearly not thinking as Gloss is and immediately sinks a spear deep into Rue's stomach. The arrow Katniss fires from her bow slices through his throat before he even has chance to pull the spear back to aim it at her.

His cannon fires and I doubt anyone but Gloss and I notice.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Sorry I'm a week late again... Real life and all that. I won't bore you with details ;) Please spare a second to tell me you're still out there if you can :) <em>**


	11. Chapter 11

_Before you read the chapter I just want to talk about something in the last chapter that a couple of you were quite right to point out - it was only a single sentence that isn't really significant to the story but I wanted to explain my thought process behind it anyway (just to prove to you that there was one :P): _

_I don't think Katniss does actually call Lysa 'Foxface' out loud in canon, but at the same time I imagine her saying it without really thinking about it because she doesn't know her real name. Such as maybe she'd count off the surviving tributes when she's in the arena, saying their names to herself as she does. That was my theory anyway... Thanks to PK9 and Obiwanlivesforever, who both noticed and asked me about it (btw, Obiwan - District 8 is 15 and he has blond hair, in my head at least!)_

Chapter Eleven

"Cashmere? Cashmere, is that you?"

I had been walking slowly down the corridor, unsure of where exactly I want to go, but when I hear that voice I begin to run, racing ever more quickly until he steps in front of me. I fling myself into his arms, heedless of the hidden cameras that may be filming us, and for a brief second he forgets as well, clinging to me like he's never going to let go.

"Marvel's dead, Falco," I whisper, eventually managing to get my words out as he pushes me gently away. "It's over. He killed the little girl," I gasp. "He drove that spear into her and then I saw the arrow sink into his throat. Everdeen killed him."

"I know," he replies, taking my arm and guiding me into the dining room. "I saw. I was at Phoebe's and Phaedra was watching the Games. We were talking about sponsorship, but then…well, then it wasn't really necessary to carry on."

Something about the way he says that makes me lose what little self control I was managing to hold onto, and I suddenly can't stop my tears. He holds me until I can't cry anymore, until I'm gasping for breath and my head is spinning, and the worst thing is that I know I'm not crying for Marvel. I am ashamed to say that I felt very little when he died. I'm really crying for Gloss, and for myself as well, because I'm not sure how many times I can see that defeated, lifeless look in my brother's eyes before it starts to be reflected in my own.

"You couldn't have done anything," says Falco, reaching across to wipe away my tears. "You couldn't have changed anything. He made his choice."

"He was in the Games, Falco. He had to kill to survive."

"Would you have caught that girl in a net and put a spear in her belly?"

"No," I reply after several seconds of silence. "But how is that any different to how I killed Davena? If I was Marvel then I'd have killed her because the only alternative would have been my own death."

He nods and pulls me against him again. "And Katniss killed him because she could. She killed him because of what he did and because she wanted to survive. You can't blame her for that."

"Gloss will always hate her."

"Of course he will. Just like both of you will always hate Finnick Odair and Tiberius Silvestri will always hate you. There's part of you that can rationalise what happened and even understand it, but there's a bigger part of you that can't see past who you lost."

"I hate the way you're always right, do you know that?"

He pushes me away just enough for him to be able to look down into my eyes. "Are you telling me I'm always right? Are you finally acknowledging the truth you've been denying for years?" he says, smirking that familiar smirk I hadn't realised how much I'd missed.

"I didn't say that!"

"I'm sorry, Butterfly, but you did. And I'll never let you forget it."

I struggle in his arms, trying to stand up, but he doesn't let me go and eventually I give up, suddenly remembering where we are. The dining room. It's been debugged. He's always said so and he'd tell me if that was no longer true. I shuffle around until I can whisper in his ear.

"I saw Narissa. She asked me to talk to you."

"She had no right. I told her I don't want you to be involved this time. She told me she'd leave you out of it. Just wait until I see her-"

"Falco!" I shout, interrupting him mid-sentence and trying not to laugh at how abruptly he stops talking and turns to look at me when I get his attention. "I love you, Falco Hazelwell," I tell him firmly, "but you can't make that decision for me. It's mine to make and nobody else's."

"And what did she ask you to talk to me about?"

"She told me about Thirteen. About how it wasn't destroyed despite what we're told. But I guess you know that already."

He nods. "I've always known it, but I didn't know about the talks until The Gamemaker told me. He thinks they can help us, that they'll prevent what happened before from happening again."

"And what do you think?"

"I think that what we did last time didn't work. Achillea wanted revolution but she also wanted to keep the Capitol. She feared Thirteen and she passed that fear on to her granddaughter."

"How do you know she wasn't right to fear them? They've done nothing to help us in the past seventy-four years so why should anyone believe they're going to start now?"

"They say they will. They say that if we rebel then they will fight with us. We don't know they mean what they say but we don't know they don't either."

"Since when have you blindly trusted anyone?" I reply, slightly incredulous. "Think about what you're saying."

"I have," he says. "Believe me, I have. But if there's a chance of revolution then perhaps we should take it. The alternative is what we have now."

"How much do you know about what they're planning? How much do you know about Thirteen?"

"They're trying to combine the District Thirteen plan with everything that Achillea did here and in the other districts. But it's not working without Narissa even though Phoebe and her people will never admit it. Nobody knew more about what happened last time than 'Rissa."

"Will you talk to her? Please. She seems to know a lot about Thirteen and she thinks we'll be swapping one dictatorship for another. There must be a way of doing it without them."

"I've played so many theories over in my mind and I can't see it. We didn't even get close last time. Snow shut it down before it started and without the power of Thirteen there's nothing to stop him from doing exactly the same thing again. All it takes is one betrayal."

"So we make sure those involved don't betray us."

"There is no 'us' in this, Cashmere," he says sternly, squeezing my upper arms in a grip so tight it's painful. "I won't let you do this."

"And I won't let you stop me. It's my choice. And besides, your little friend Narissa seems to be in the habit of buying de Montforts. If you won't tell me what's going on then I'll ask her."

"I'll speak to her," he replies, not loosening his grip on me even slightly. "I'll listen to what she's got to say and try to sort this out."

"Good. We all want the same thing. Make sure people don't start to forget that."

He laughs then, looking at me amusedly. "I hate to have to tell you this but I don't have as much power and influence as you seem to think I have."

"And here was me thinking you could turn water to wine and walk on water," I reply teasingly, trying not to laugh. "To think I've been so wrong for all these years."

"I'd be careful what you say when you're in such a precarious position, Butterfly," he tells me. I'd think his expression serious if it wasn't for the way his eyes don't stop smiling.

"Precarious?" I ask, finally giving in to my laughter.

He doesn't answer me with words but uses his grip on my arms to flip me over onto my back. I was looking down at him before but suddenly he's the one looking down at me.

"What are you going to do now?" he says, and although I know he's deliberately distracting me from talk of the rebellion, that doesn't stop it from getting more and more difficult to keep my mind on Heavensbee, Narissa and District Thirteen.

I lean up to kiss him but then my heart literally stops when I hear someone cough loudly and pointedly. I look across at the door and only start to breathe again when I see Gloss standing there, his face a mixture of anxiety, grief and something that could almost be amusement. He could have been anyone. I'm in the middle of the Capitol. How could we be so stupid? How could we let our guard down in a place like this?

"They want to interview us, Cash," says my brother as I get up, brushing both real and imaginary creases from my dress and trying not to look too guilty. I glance at Falco and he just smirks back at me.

"The last interview," I reply quietly.

I should have thought about that. Mentors always have to give a final interview once both of their tributes have died in the arena. It's always seemed like some kind of sick joke that they make us publicly discuss the prospects of those remaining rather than give us time to think about those we've lost, but that's the way it's always been.

Gloss holds his hand out to me and I entwine my fingers with his, letting him lead me towards the door. He looks more together than he has done for a while, and I find myself watching him because of it, trying to remember this relatively whole-looking Gloss so I'll have the memory to comfort me when he falls apart again. I know he will sooner or later. Since his arena, he always does.

* * *

><p>"What do they expect us to say? Seriously. Do they expect us to stand there and say how proud we are that they took part in the Games?"<p>

I stop just outside the lift, making sure we're too far away from the main doors to be seen from the City Circle, and then turn to look at Gloss. I don't have an answer because I'm standing here thinking exactly the same thing. And it isn't made easier by the way he can't seem to say Glimmer's name. I've seen this before. He was like this with Sapphire. Months and months of keeping the majority of his anger and grief buried deep inside until he finally explodes when he simply can't keep it hidden for another minute.

"We just have to get through it," I tell him firmly. "We don't have to talk for long. I'll talk if you don't want to."

"I'm fine," he replies, suddenly sounding anything but. "As long as they don't mention Everdeen and her pretend boyfriend then I'll stay fine. You know, perhaps we should support District Two. At least they're real."

"Doesn't that make it worse rather than better?" I say, turning away from him and moving towards the waiting reporters. "You know how many Victors each arena has as well as I do."

Once they see us, the Capitolians go into overdrive immediately. Both of our tributes might have died too early on for them to be considered serious contenders for the Victor's crown, but they all know Gloss and I so they never miss an opportunity to interrogate us, not even at a time like this. I know that by this time tomorrow I'll be looking at a feature on the likely reasons as to why I chose this blue dress rather than one of a different colour. I shake my head at the thought of how little value the citizens of the big city place on Glimmer, Marvel and all of the other fallen tributes they scarcely seem to notice.

The first question I manage to make out over the background buzz of many voices talking all at once is 'How do you feel about the death of Glimmer and Marvel?', and things go even further downhill very rapidly after that. The mention of Glimmer makes Gloss physically shake, so I step close to him, taking his hand firmly in mine until he's steady once more. He doesn't speak, and as I try to answer the questions as politely as I can when really all I want to do is scream and shout and rage, I look up at the big screen, seeing for myself the images that the whole country will be watching.

I don't look as exhausted as I thought I would and I definitely don't look as exhausted as I feel, but once I've established that, I immediately focus on Gloss. He's got that blank look in his eyes again, that one he gets when he's spent the night in some Capitolian's bed, and I know from that he's not going to last much longer.

"I'm so sorry but we have to go now," I announce, shouting over the continuing barrage of questions. "We both have an appointment with a stylist and a photographer and I'm sure you wouldn't want us to miss that."

It seems that I've hit upon the magic words, because the mob backs away just enough to let us escape. Seeing the opportunity at exactly the same time, Gloss and I both step forwards. However while I turn towards the Training Centre, my brother goes the other way. I try to follow but we're cut off from each other immediately. I just have time to see him frantically searching for me before the crowd swallows him up and sweeps me back the way I came.

* * *

><p>As soon as I reach the doors of the Training Centre I turn around to look for Gloss, but I can't see him anywhere. There are too many people, crowding around trying to ask me one more question, and as soon as I take a step towards them they all surge to meet me. One look at them is enough to convince me to go inside. I desperately want to find Gloss but I can see I'm not going to get anywhere near him when I have to get through this lot first.<p>

Level One seems eerily silent now Glimmer and Marvel have gone, now that the stylists and prep teams and all the associated people who wait on us when there's still a chance of victory have vanished for another year. The doors seem to creak now there is nobody to talk over them, and when I retreat to the dining room out of habit, there is no sign at all that we ever stayed here. It feels as though the Capitol has neatly tidied Marvel and Glimmer away so they can forget they ever existed, and that thought is enough to make me pull one of the tie-backs from its hook so a curtain hangs messily out of place.

I feel better for it, so I move over to the sideboard and take a few of the plates and glasses out, spreading them randomly across the table. Then I hear footsteps and I stop what I'm doing to look guiltily up at the door.

"Won't it look suspicious if you're here now we're out of the Games?"

Falco shrugs his shoulders. "I saw your interview. Then I saw you get separated from Gloss. I didn't think you'd want to be alone. And judging by your adjustments to the décor, I don't think I was wrong," he finishes, lifting up the unattached curtain and looking amusedly back at me.

"If someone saw you…" I reply. "If someone wants to know where you are…"

"…then I'm here talking to you about how best to deal with the aftermath of the death of your district's tributes," he says, ending my sentence for me with what I hope is a perfectly plausible excuse.

I smile sadly, and he takes me in his arms with a lot less caution than he probably should when I cross the room to stand in front of him. I think about that for a split second but then I cling to him like I'm never going to let go.

"Do you want me to get someone to bring us some food?" he asks eventually. "I can't remember the last time I saw you eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Cashmere," he replies, and I know from the way he says my name that I'm about to get a lecture.

"Please, Falco," I interrupt, pulling him over to the sofa. "I don't want to eat and I don't want you to go anywhere."

He sits down beside me and pulls me close, and though neither of us says anything, for the first few minutes we're both looking across at the door every other second, dreading someone coming in and finding us together. However after a while it becomes easier to relax and it's well into the afternoon before I even think about moving. The only thing bothering me is that Gloss still hasn't returned.

"He'll be back when he's ready," says Falco quietly.

"Would you stop reading my mind?" I tease. "It's scary."

He laughs. "I know you too well, Butterfly. You worry about him when you don't know where he is."

"I worry about him when I do know where he is," I reply. "The only thing he could think about was escaping the reporters. He could be anywhere. He shouldn't be on his own but in a way I hope he is."

"I haven't heard anything about certain people taking advantage of him no longer having mentoring duties," he says cautiously, knowing I will understand his meaning immediately.

"Good," I reply, shuffling and suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "But I wish he'd come back."

"He might have gone back to the Control Room. They can't reach him there."

"I haven't heard anything about what's happened in the arena today. Do you think anyone else has died?" I ask, not entirely sure I want to know.

He doesn't answer me but reaches for the remote control and switches on the television instead. The first person I see is Thresh, still isolated in the grass fields, but the picture soon changes to show each of the other tributes in turn, starting with Lysandra as she struggles towards the lake. Katniss proves to be more popular, and we frequently have to look at her sitting by her fire.

When it switches to show her almost-dead district partner, the Capitolian commentators loudly discuss how they wish Katniss would find him and help him. I can't help laughing at that. They talk about them like they're truly in love and I find it unbelievable that they can't see the reality of how it was all a cunning ploy to win support and sponsorship. Or at least I would find it unbelievable if this wasn't the Capitol. And anyway, what would she do if she found him? He's that far gone that an arrow through the heart would be a kindness. I laugh again when I imagine how the stupid, mindless audience would react to that.

However the focus abruptly returns to the pair from District Two and stays there as Clove takes Cato's hand and places it gently over her heart.

"Not dead yet," she whispers softly.

"Not for a long time yet," he replies, the muscles in his arm tensing slightly as he pushes down against her.

I immediately exchange a look with Falco. Only one of them can live, and the way Cato said that sounds very much like he's planning for it to be Clove who walks away.

I quickly realise that the girl from District Two heard the same thing from the look in her eyes alone. Then she sighs deeply, and it seems as if it takes all of the willpower she possesses to make herself remain where she is when all she wants to do is cling to Cato and never let go. I've never heard such longing in a voice before as she closes her eyes and remembers the place she calls home.

"District Two is…well, honestly, it's dark and filthy and full of corruption. It's nearly killed us both on more than one occasion, but it's still home and I wish with all my heart that we were back there. It's baking hot in summer, so hot you can see the heat rising from the floor of the Training Centre courtyard and you can barely breathe because the air is so thick. You get annoyed with me because I push you away at the same time as I push the sheets off the bed at night."

"And there's the answer the whole city's been waiting for," says Falco, his voice a hushed whisper.

I don't know what to say as I wait for Clove to continue, strangely hypnotised by the tribute girl's words as I watch her gradually and seemingly subconsciously drift closer to the side of the man who is supposed to be just her district partner. Then the picture suddenly changes to show Katniss still sitting in front of her fire, and I scowl at her image, wanting to hear what Clove says next rather than look at the girl who killed Glimmer and Marvel.

"She's said enough," says Falco, and I know he means Clove. "It's illegal to train tributes for the Games. They've broadcast more than they should have done already."

When District Two reappear, Clove is lying in Cato's arms, not saying another word.

"She's like you," says Cato, but I doubt I'll ever know who they're talking about or what they said.

Then all thoughts of District Two fade instantly away as I hear footsteps in the corridor. I jump away from Falco but at the same time the door swings open and Gloss appears, his clothes creased and dusty.

"Where have you been?" I ask, getting up to stand in front of him.

"For a walk," he replies, tilting my chin up so I have to meet his eyes. "I wanted some time to think."

"A walk where?"

As I wait for his response I find myself examining him closely for signs he's lying. I can't find any, and while I wouldn't put it past the president to take advantage of how we no longer have any tributes to mentor, I can tell he hasn't done it yet. There is grief in my brother's eyes, sadness, pain and grief. When he's been somewhere for Snow there are no emotions at all, only a terrifying blankness that takes days and sometimes weeks to fade.

"I was by the Control Room but I left when I saw the Gamemakers. They're planning something, Cash. There were at least ten of them there, whispering and plotting."

"They're the Gamemakers, Gloss. It's what they do."

Then all three of us turn back to the television screen as Clove's voice suddenly fills the room.

"Get a grip on reality. The rules of the Games haven't changed in over seventy years. They will kill us both before they let us live. We can't be together anymore, Cato. And we have to stop talking like this before the Gamemakers do something drastic and we both end up dead."

She pulls back out of Cato's grasp and flees towards the trees, not stopping until she's out of his sight. Then she stops and almost turns back before forcing herself onwards. Cato sinks to the ground like all his strength has left him. I've never seen him look so vulnerable.

"That's it then," says Falco. "The end of the Alliance."

"That's an alliance that won't end," I reply quietly as the camera zooms in on Clove's face as she curls up at the foot of a tree just inside the woods. She doesn't cry, she just stares unseeingly ahead of her for so long that I almost expect her cannon to fire.

"Everything ends in the Hunger Games, Cash," says Gloss as he sits down beside me. "Nobody wins."

I don't know what to say to that and I can tell by the look on Falco's face that he doesn't either. I shake my head slightly when Gloss isn't looking and rest my head on his shoulder, hoping that my closeness will drag him back to himself for a little bit longer. It's just until the Games end, I tell myself in my head. When it's over they'll let us go home and he'll be better then. He has to be.

Our silence continues as we watch Clove finally get up and begin taking some of her anger out on one of the trees. She throws first one knife and then another so hard that they sink into their target all the way to the hilt. I wouldn't like to be the next tribute who crosses her path, not unless my name was Cato.

Eventually I look away from her and back down at Gloss, blocking out the sound of the anthem I will always associate with the death recaps in my own arena. That is until it ends and is replaced by the sound of trumpets. A feast? Now? Why?

"They're bringing them together now? Why?" asks Falco, his puzzled tone reflecting my own confusion.

But then Claudius Templesmith makes his announcement and we find out that it isn't a feast at all.

"Greetings to the contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games! It has been decided that this year the rules of the Games are going to be altered so that two tributes can win if they are the last two remaining! The only condition being that they are both from the same district!"

Nobody in the room speaks and I'd put money on it being the same across the whole of Panem as Claudius makes his announcement again, almost as if he guesses that virtually everyone will think they misheard him the first time. Clove sinks to her knees in stunned disbelief and Cato abandons all of the remaining supplies at the Cornucopia, his thoughts only of getting to her. Katniss's cry of Peeta's name echoes around and around the arena long after she falls silent.

"They can't change the rules," I stammer, just about finding my voice. "They wouldn't. They've never changed the rules before."

Falco looks equally as stunned but when I turn towards Gloss, he's nodding his head almost as if he'd known all along what was going to happen.

"Can't you see what they're doing, Cash?" he asks. "They've changed the rules because it's what will give the best show. District Two versus District Twelve. She betrayed him before but now Katniss will have no choice but to find Peeta."

It suddenly makes perfect sense. This way the audience will get something they've never seen before. Two pairs of tributes who genuinely care about the fate of their district partner, fighting to the death so one of those pairs can both live. But it seems to me that there's a major problem the Gamemakers have overlooked.

"How's that going to work? Peeta Mellark looks like his cannon's about to fire."

"Maybe he isn't as bad as he looks," replies Gloss. "Katniss will find him and I'm sure he'll recover quickly enough," he continues, spitting out the girl from the coal district's name like poison. "The reporters will get more than enough mileage just from watching her try to help him."

I look back at Falco, noticing his uncharacteristic silence even though I can't begin to work out the reason for it. He smiles softly but says nothing.

"It's late," I say reluctantly, my eyes still locked with his. "If you're seen leaving here any later then the gossips really will start to talk."

"One day I'll just let them talk," he replies, but he gets up anyway, taking his coat from the table and crossing over to kiss me. "I'll see you tomorrow. Stay here. Don't go out."

* * *

><p>As it turns out, I didn't see him the next day or the day after that. I got a message on the morning after the rule change announcement, written in his own hand and delivered by a uniformed servant I vaguely recognised, telling me he's indisposed and nothing more. It was only when I finally recalled where I've seen the servant before that I understand why he truly isn't here. The blond-haired man used to work for Achillea, and that means he probably works for Narissa now. Falco's with her somewhere, just like he promised me he would be, and the servant was the only way he could think of to tell me what isn't safe for him to put down in words.<p>

I know I should probably be out and about in the Capitol as I'm sure it's what the president expects of me, but I still can't bring myself to move when I can sit here with Gloss as he talks about home like the Gloss I remember from before the Capitol broke him. I don't know what's brought about the change in him and I know it won't last because it never does, but he's here with me now, looking at me with the eyes I remember from my childhood. I don't want to move in case I break the spell.

"We can't shut the world out forever," he says, reaching for the remote control. "Do you think we should put the Games back on?"

I nod reluctantly and he presses the button. The television flashes to life immediately and the first thing I notice is that the picture is split in two. One side shows Katniss and Peeta, sitting together in some kind of shelter that could be a cave, and the other shows Cato, walking through the forest holding Clove tightly in his arms. It seems that Gloss was right all along, that the Gamemakers changed the rules to set up the showdown the audience are all waiting for. One of my first thoughts is to feel sorry for Lysandra and Thresh, who have nobody to team up with and are suddenly completely surplus to requirements.

Then my suspicions are immediately confirmed further when Claudius makes his second announcement of the Games to invite all of the remaining tributes to a feast at the Cornucopia. The audience obviously really are getting impatient. They want their showdown and they want it now, and even though my reasons are very different, I agree with them. I want it to be over. I just want to go home, and as I curl back up close to Gloss, I can't think of anything else.

* * *

><p>"I think I want to see this, Cash," whispers Gloss as he gently shakes me awake. I look at the dawn light as the sun rises over the Capitol and instantly remember the feast. "This is the beginning of the end and I think I need to see it. I want to be there when she falls."<p>

I know he means Katniss, and while I don't feel as strongly about the outcome of the Games as he does, after watching both couples, I can't help wanting the fierce, lethal pair from Two to be the ones who live to take the hovercraft home. At least they're real. And at least they're not the ones who killed Glimmer.

"Control Room then?" I say, pushing myself to my feet and holding my hand out to him.

"Thank you," he says, obviously sensing that I'd rather stay here than face the Capitol and the other mentors again.

* * *

><p>When we get to the Control Room the feast has already started. Every single screen shows Katniss racing towards the table in front of the Cornucopia with Clove following closely behind, throwing knives at her target even as she runs. Everyone watching is so intently focussed on the arena that not one of them spares us so much as a glance.<p>

The first knife Clove throws misses because the girl from the coal district deflects it with her bow at the last possible second. Then the whole of Panem suddenly understands why Katniss got her ridiculously high training score when she fires her first arrow straight at her opponent with a deadly accuracy that any Career Tribute would be proud of.

Clove turns away but it still sinks into her left arm, slowing her instantly. Vikus curses loudly from the next desk as soon as the arrow pierces his tribute's skin, but I was expecting that so it isn't what distracts me. What distracts me is the way Gloss's breath catches, the way he only breathes again when Clove recovers enough to throw a second knife at Katniss. This time she hits her target, giving her a cut on her head that's enough to distract her while she closes the distance between them.

The girl from Two barrels into Katniss, using her momentum to bring the other girl down, and when she draws the knife from her jacket, I can tell immediately that she doesn't mean it to be quick. Katniss has been Clove's hated enemy for long enough and I can see the anger clearly in her silver-grey eyes as she pins the other girl to the ground.

I can't bring myself to condone what she's doing, especially thinking of the girl's family watching back in Twelve, but at the same time I understand it as well. I understand what it feels like to be in the arena for so long that you stop thinking straight, that you lose the ability to think rationally and think only of the end instead. Part of me remembers how the arena has the power to take your humanity away so gradually that you don't even notice it's happening. Part of me just wishes Clove Jacia would hurry up and get on with it so we can all go home.

* * *

><p>However she doesn't get on with it, and for the first time in my memory she's so absorbed in her own world that she stops noticing what's happening around her. She doesn't notice Thresh when he leaves the safety of the grass fields to stand behind her and I can see the shock in her eyes as he lifts her into the air and then throws her to the ground. I can't help feeling shocked as well. This isn't the seemingly gentle person who befriended Glimmer. This is the person the arena made him become.<p>

"Her leg's broken," whispers Gloss. "She's had it."

I nod in silent agreement as the camera briefly zooms in on Clove to show the audience how her one leg is folded underneath her at a painfully unnatural angle. Gloss thinks she's already lost and it seems that Clove has started to think the same thing. After a stammered protest when Thresh falsely accuses her of killing Rue, she screams for Cato at the very top of her voice.

Her shout echoes around the Control Room as well as the arena, and seconds later it's joined by a frantic call of her name in return as Cato races to save her. The camera focussed on him also shows Lysandra sitting in the tree he'd cornered her in, but he forgets her as quickly as the rest of Panem seems to have, his thoughts only of Clove.

Then Thresh brings the rock crashing down onto her head and I know Cato's going to get there too late even if he doesn't.

* * *

><p>It barely registers that Thresh has let Katniss go before they're both fleeing from the Cornucopia as Cato bursts through the trees. Gloss growls under his breath as the girl from Twelve disappears into the relative safety of the forest but Cato only has eyes for Clove and he doesn't seem to even see the others. He continues to call her name as he races towards her, but as he gets closer and sees her properly, the change in his voice tells me exactly when he realises deep inside that he's too late.<p>

He throws himself to the ground by her side, pleading with her not to leave him, but when he lifts her up in his arms her moans tell him how much he's hurting her and he quickly lowers her down again. She's obviously trying to speak but she's so weak that Cato has to lean down to hear her. The cameras can't pick up her words and the only thing I can hear is the disappointment of the Capitolian commentators. However the force behind Cato's reaction immediately tells me that whatever Clove said, it's something he didn't like one bit.

"No!" he shouts, pulling back at the same time as tightening his already unyielding grip on her hands. "I'll never do it! I could never have done it!"

"She wants him to kill her," I whisper to Gloss, guessing that's the only thing which could make him react like that. "She knows she's dying and she wants him to kill her."

When he doesn't answer me I turn to look at him. He's staring unblinkingly at the screen, his eyes glazed like he's not seeing Cato and Clove at all but someone else entirely instead. I take his shaking hand and hope that will snap him out of it.

"It's better that way," he replies eventually. "The only thing worse than dying in the Games is surviving them."

And what do I say to that? What can I say? In many ways surviving _is _worse, for him even more than it has been for me. No matter how many years pass by, the tributes you go into the arena with never leave you, and the freedom most people think you have is an illusion, a façade and nothing more. Then there's the president. The less I think about him, the better.

I squeeze my brother's hand in silence and he finally looks at me. I'm not sure if he really sees me at all.

"That's right, Marcelli," says Vikus harshly to the image of Cato on the television screen. "Listen to your girl and put her out of her misery. Just get on with it."

I watch as Cato kneels on the arena floor by Clove's side, his eyes never leaving hers as he tightens the grip on the knife he took from his jacket pocket.

"I will kill him for this, I swear it," he promises her fiercely. "I will kill them all."

He continues to speak after that but he drops his voice so low that the microphones don't pick up what he says. Later on when they're replaying and discussing the events of the Games they'll have managed to work it out and I'm sure they'll be analysing every word in infinitesimal detail, but for now I suspect only Clove can hear.

I gasp when he drags the blade sharply across the palm of his hand, cutting deeply enough to make his blood flow from the wound onto the ground, but if he feels the pain then he doesn't show it. The expression of grief and total despair on his face doesn't change.

He leans down and kisses Clove, positioning the knife over her heart. When her cannon sounds, his wordless cry of grief fills the Control Room and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks or even seems to breathe until long after everywhere is silent.

"Gloss?" I whisper once Clove's photograph has faded to sepia and the low buzz of conversation has started again.

He doesn't answer me so I don't know what makes me look over to the doors instead of at my brother. Maybe it's just coincidence or maybe it's because I feel his eyes boring into me, but when I finally tear myself away from the arena, it is to see Tiberius Silvestri staring straight at me. I look away, unable to meet his gaze even from this distance, but I soon look back again, unable to help myself. When I do, the entranceway is empty.

"I need some air," I tell Gloss, knowing I'd probably be better off staying in here with him but allowing my curiosity to get the better of me all the same. "I'll be back in a minute. And then we'll go back to the Training Centre."

He doesn't say anything. When I look into his eyes, I see nothing there at all.

"Gloss?"

"I'll wait here for you," he whispers, staring at the television screen in front of him rather than at me.

I take a deep breath and walk away. I'll be back in a minute. Then I'll take him back to the Training Centre.

"You shouldn't be here," I say, seeing Tiberius as soon as I step outside. He leans back against the tree he stands beneath with a level of insouciance that would put Finnick Odair to shame. I can tell it isn't genuine.

"I would say it's a free country, but…"

I can't help smirking at that but abruptly become serious again. "You're not mentoring. The Control Room's only for mentors."

"Don't be pedantic, de Montfort. Besides, I wasn't in the Control Room. I was only in the entranceway."

"Pedantic is a big word for you, isn't it, Silvestri? Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

He narrows his eyes and pushes himself from against the tree, stalking towards me in that threatening way I remember him having as a tribute. He clearly grew into it rather than out of it, and I've backed away from the Control Room building's entrance before I realise my own stupidity. By the time I do, it's too late to do anything but square my shoulders and stare back at him. I'm not scared, not truly. If he'd really wanted to kill me then he'd have done it years ago.

"All alone, Cashmere?" he says, staring unblinkingly down at me with his unreadable dark eyes. He grasps my wrist to hold me still. "Where's your little brother? Where's your pet Capitolian?" I open my mouth to contradict him but he raises his other hand. "Don't bother. The truth's obvious to anyone who cares to see it."

"Gloss is inside," I reply stiffly. "If I'm not back in a minute then he'll come looking for me."

Tiberius laughs at that. "You make it sound like I abducted you. You came out here of your own free will and you can leave again whenever you like."

"What do you want, Silvestri?"

He says nothing, but keeps staring. I stare back at him, at his dark eyes that look black in this dim light, at his scarred arms and his black clothes. The years have altered Ursala slightly and they've altered him as well. Instead of getting weaker as the years since his Games pass by, he seems to have only got stronger. It makes me want to ask him what he's still fighting for.

"And how is Gloss, Cashmere? Grieving for the one he lost in the arena?" he asks suddenly, speaking as if his previous silence had been his opportunity to argue with himself in his own mind, with one side telling him to say what he wants to say and the other side telling him not to. I know which side won before he has the chance to continue. "Did he tell you how powerless he felt? How it feels to be able to do nothing? Did he tell you what it felt like to see that little red line on the screen go flat as she breathed her last?"

"Gloss didn't kill your Dahlia, Tiberius. I did. But only to stop her from killing me first," I reply, guessing instantly that he isn't really talking about Glimmer. "I think you know that though. Deep inside you do. Or you'd have killed me long ago."

"I'm sure it doesn't happen very often, de Montfort, but you said something that made sense once. It was the first time I saw you. In there," he adds, pointing back at the Control Room. "You told me that killing you wouldn't bring her back and you were right. So you're still walking around. And maybe you might be good for something in the end."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Tell Hazelwell that the offer still stands but the terms remain the same."

I blink before staring incredulously up at him. There's only one person who would have told him to tell me to tell Falco that.

"Since when have you been her messenger boy?" I ask, deliberately not saying Narissa's name out loud just in case. "Or are you her something else?"

He smirks. "I'm not her something else unless she wears that white rose in her hair."

"And has she?"

He smirks again. "No. Not for me. Don't think she'll let your little brother grieve for long though."

I turn away then, hating the thought of Gloss being sold to anyone again and knowing it's only a matter of time. The best we can hope for is that it won't be before he's been allowed to go home for a few weeks.

"Cashmere?"

I spin around again to find Marcus Arrowsmith standing on the path and looking anxiously across at me. When I look back Tiberius has vanished so completely that I almost think I imagined our conversation and that he was never there at all. Then I look down and see the vaguest hint of a bruise on my wrist.

"What is it?"

"You need to come back inside quickly. It's your brother. Quickly," he repeats, gesturing back at the doors.

I don't need him to tell me twice and I sprint towards the Control Room without looking back. I don't wait to see if Marcus is following.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you to everyone who has reviewedfavourited/alerted - I really appreciate it, you all keep me posting. If you're still out there reading then please let me know...**_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

When I reach the Control Room I race through the doors when they've barely had time to open. I catch my arm on one of them but if it hurts then I don't pause to notice. I don't have time to think about it.

The room suddenly seems to be full of people despite how I'd thought it virtually empty before. Every one of them is staring at Gloss, their faces a mixture of shock, fear and what looks to me like relief that they won't have to deal with him.

He's standing in front of the main screen closest to our station, his chair lying on its side at his feet amidst the shattered remains of what used to be on the top of our desk. There's blood on his shirt, and when I step closer I can clearly see him shaking. His hands are clenched in tight fists at his sides like he wants to destroy something else but he isn't sure what.

"Haven't you all got something else to do?" I shout, scanning everyone in the room and wishing I could simultaneously glare viciously at them all at the same time.

A couple of the Capitol escorts and the mentors who no longer have a tribute in the Games get up and leave, their expressions making me unsure if it's me they fear or Gloss. Those who remain immediately turn away and pretend to look busy. Only Vikus Cortez holds my gaze, his cold eyes full of amusement more than anything else. I scowl at him and turn away. You wouldn't think that Clove had just died.

"Gloss?" I whisper, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of broken glass cracking underneath my feet as I walk slowly closer.

I repeat his name over and over but his eyes don't leave the screen. He doesn't so much as blink, and when I eventually realise he isn't going to look at me, I turn to see what's holding his attention. After Glimmer's death, I didn't think anything could happen in the arena that could make him react this way, but it seems I was wrong. Or maybe this has been building up and building up for days, months or even years. Maybe it was always going to happen and I just didn't see it.

When I look at the screen I see District Twelve in their cave. Peeta is staring infatuatedly down at an unconscious Katniss, and her hand still bears the syringe she must have brought back for him from the feast. She got to save him. The Capitol let her save him in a way Gloss couldn't save Glimmer, in a way that neither of us could save Sapphire. Now I'm not surprised he has finally been pushed over the edge.

"Gloss, come away. Let's go. Please."

"I want to go home, Cash. Can we go home?" he asks, speaking in a barely audible whisper after what feels like all eternity. He still doesn't look away from the screen.

I roughly wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand and take a deep breath. I have to be the strong one now. I have to be strong for him.

"Yes, Gloss. Come with me and we can go home," I tell him, reaching out and taking his hand.

I hate lying to him but I don't know what else to do. All I know is that we can't stay here so I try to pull him towards me. For a second he resists, but then his hand tightens around mine and he begins to follow me. He still doesn't say a word. I wish more than anything that I could take him to the station and put him on a train home.

* * *

><p>As soon as I get through one set of glass doors with Gloss trailing behind me, I see that the usual crowd of Capitolians has swelled to at least twice the size it was when I left the room to speak to Tiberius. The second set of doors slides open and then I can hear them as well. The noise is almost deafening and they're virtually all talking about Katniss and Peeta. It looks like they want their star-crossed lovers back now that Clove is dead, and that all of their thoughts are for the usually forgotten coal district. I don't know why I'm still shocked, but I'm disgusted by how fickle they are.<p>

Gloss jerks his hand from mine as soon as he hears them, retreating back inside the entranceway so quickly that I don't see him move. He stands in the corner furthest from the exit, his shaking arms crossed tightly across his chest like a shield. When I move quickly over to stand directly in front of him, he wraps his arms around me as well. His instinct is still to protect me even when he's as far gone as this, and that makes my tears start to fall all over again.

"Gloss, you want to get out of here, don't you?" I ask him when I've let him hold me for a couple of minutes. "I know you do so you have to listen to me. You have to let me go and we have to walk back to the Training Centre."

He still doesn't speak. The noise from the massive television on the wall next to us fills my ears as the commentator almost passing out with excitement when he describes Cato sprinting tirelessly into the grass fields. He's speculating about where the man from District Two's newfound energy is coming from and I'm shocked all over again. Surely it doesn't take more than one brain cell to see that he's out for revenge on Thresh because of Clove?

"Gloss, come on," I whisper, deciding I'm going to have to keep trying because it's only a matter of time before some of the Gamemakers decide to take a trip downstairs. If they do then they'll walk right into us and then they're sure to start asking questions. "We have to go now, Gloss. Come back to the Training Centre with me and we can call Satin. You can speak to Victory."

He says nothing but I feel his grip slacken ever so slightly at the mention of our sister and niece. It allows me enough space to pull away and look up at him, but when I see his glazed eyes and blank expression I begin to wish I hadn't.

"Satin's the mayor," I continue, sensing that talking about home is helping. "Even though she always said she didn't want to be. If we go back to Level One then you can ask her why she changed her mind."

"Victory was supposed to read the Treaty of Treason in front of everyone at her school," he whispers eventually. "She was telling me it's because she's the best at reading and she wanted me to go and watch. It'll be too late now."

"She's as modest as her mother," I reply, taking advantage of how his thoughts are distracting him and twisting away enough to be able to take his hand again and try to move back to the door. "Wait until she's fourteen or fifteen. Then she'll be a real nightmare. She'll be just like we were."

He almost smiles at that, but then he sees what I'm doing and stops following me.

"Gloss, look at me," I command, and this time he does. "We are going to walk out of here and down the path to the Training Centre. The reporters are going to shout questions at you and the cameras are going to flash but you're going to ignore them. Do you understand? Gloss, do you understand?"

He nods and I quickly realise that's as good as I'm going to get. I pull his hand again and this time he's a lot faster to follow me. The doors slide open and the buzz of the hundred conversations going on outside reaches us instantly. He links his arm through mine and strides forwards.

"I'm going to ignore them, Cash," he says quietly. "Pretend I'm home and not in the Capitol."

Something about the total hopelessness in his voice and the way it contradicts the seemingly positive way in which he strides out through the doors makes me cry yet again. The way I'm going it will be me the reporters will say is losing it instead of Gloss. When I glance up at him, his face is as set in stone as I've ever seen it. There is no emotion there at all and I suddenly find myself wishing we were back in the Control Room. I'd rather have anger and destruction than this empty nothingness.

* * *

><p>As I thought he would be, Gloss was true to his word and kept his control all the way back to the Training Centre. I knew he'd do it. Broken though he is, I still doubt there are many people in Panem with as much willpower and self-control as my brother when he really puts his mind to it.<p>

However the illusion drops as soon as we're inside and he comes to a sudden stop, seemingly unable to continue thinking clearly enough to keep following me. The entranceway isn't overly crowded but there are still people there, and virtually all of them are staring openly at us, their eyes full of almost morbid curiosity as they whisper to each other behind their hands as if they think that will stop me from noticing.

"We need to go upstairs," I say to him, turning my back on the onlookers and hoping they'll get bored.

I all but push him into the lift and sigh with relief when the doors finally slide closed behind us.

"Just sit down and rest for a minute," I say as I walk into the dining room on Level One and hope he follows me.

He does, and as he sits down he smiles slightly. For the first time since I saw him as he was in the Control Room, I truly start to believe I might be able to snap him out of it like I have in the past. Every time this has happened has been gradually worse, and I can't help thinking it's only a matter of time before he can't come back. However it seems that that time isn't now, and my heart lifts slightly at the thought as I flop down onto the sofa beside him. Then I hear the knock on the door.

"Ignore it," I say instantly, leaning into Gloss so he hopefully can't get up even if he wants to.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. I don't move. Neither does Gloss. The only person I'd want to see is Falco and he'd just walk straight in. Nobody else I know through the almost-rebellion would be stupid enough to come here, especially not in broad daylight when anyone could see them.

The knocking doesn't come again so I start to relax a little, turning to look up at Gloss and smiling when I see his eyes are slightly less glazed over than they were before. That's when I hear footsteps coming down the corridor.

The door opens at the same time as I jump to my feet and instinctively stand in front of Gloss, sensing that something isn't right. I immediately see my reflection in the mirror opposite and am startled to see the face of the girl I've been forced to watch on the Games replays so many times over the years staring back at me. This is the face of the Cashmere who went into the arena to fight for her life, the Cashmere I'd started to think was left behind for good.

Only Capitolians with real authority would walk in here uninvited and without maintaining the carefully preserved façade of politeness and respect that forms the basis for most meetings the people of the big city have with the Victors. Once again I can't fight the feeling that something isn't right and an uncontrollable fear suddenly fills me so completely that I can't think of anything else.

"Can I help you?" I ask the man who now stands in the doorway, hoping my voice doesn't shake too much.

He looks me up and down with an unreadable expression on his obviously surgically corrected and enhanced features. I do the same to him and recoil at both the sight of his spotless white coat and the appearance of at least two others behind him.

"It has come to my attention that your brother isn't feeling too well at the moment," he replies evenly as he peers around me to look at Gloss. I step to the side to block his view, wishing I was bigger so I could hide my brother entirely. "It is the president's own wish that we come here and escort him downstairs to the hospital so we can ensure there is nothing serious to worry about."

Downstairs? To the place where they bring the newly-crowned Victors when they leave the arena? What are they going to do to him there? Nothing good, of that I'm certain. It isn't something that's talked openly about, but in the seventy-four years of the Hunger Games there have been more than a couple of Victors who have been driven mad by the arena and what follows it. They were taken away by people like these, drugged and manipulated by them until they stay neatly where the Capitol wants them because little to nothing of their true self remains. I'll die before I let that happen to Gloss.

"That won't be necessary," I say, trying to keep my tone respectful. "As you can see, there is nothing wrong with Gloss at all. Is there, Gloss?" I continue, twisting around so I can look at him without relinquishing my position between him and the Capitolian.

My brother shakes his head but he doesn't speak, and I know it won't be nearly enough to convince this doctor or whatever he is to leave us alone.

"See," I say desperately, clinging on to the futile hope that he'll fall for it. "We wouldn't want to waste your time so we won't keep you any longer."

I can tell it hasn't worked when he takes a step closer so his companions can also join us in the dining room.

"I don't think that's your decision to make, Miss de Montfort," says the second man carefully, his words implying that they intend to remove Gloss to the hospital floor by force if there is no other way.

"He's my brother," I snap, abandoning all pretence of civility as they continue to move closer. I can now see the third Capitolian is a woman and that she has a syringe in her hand. "And if you want him then you're going to have to get through me first."

Gloss gets up when I say that but I push him back behind me, my fear making me feel stronger than I've felt since I was in the arena. It had been my fear that had given me strength back then as well, but this is much, much worse. This is Gloss, the brother who has been the other half of me for longer than I can remember, and nobody on Earth is going to take him from me. I curl my hand up to pull the thin piece of leather that straps my dagger to my arm, only vaguely thinking of the consequences and not having the slightest hint of a plan, when a movement I see out of the corner of my eye stops me.

"Cashmere, it would be my absolute pleasure. I've been hinting at it for years but you've always turned me down," purrs a very familiar voice from the doorway. "But that is not something the likes of _you _can hope to aspire to," she continues, her voice suddenly razor-sharp as she turns her attention to the three Capitolians.

I've never been as pleased to see Narissa Redsparrow as I am now, but the White Coats' expressions whizz from recognition to nervousness to outright fear in a split second. It makes me wonder why I've never thought to find out much about what she does when she's not planning a revolution or sleeping with my brother. There must be a reason why all three of them reacted that way.

"We are carrying out the instructions of our noble president," says the man who led them into the room earlier. He seems to be the bravest of the group. "All we wish to do is escort Mr de Montfort to the hospital."

"Then I quite understand why Miss de Montfort is so eager to voice her objections," she continues, matching his officious tone perfectly while her expression tells him she's mocking him. "Please leave," she adds lightly, stepping forward to pluck the syringe from the white-coated woman's hand.

"Have you any idea how valuable that is?" she stammers in response.

Narissa laughs. "Have you any idea how valuable _I _am?" she scoffs, once again proving her talent for mimicry. "See my personal assistant to claim the money back if you dare."

She turns to look at me for a second and then changes her focus to Gloss. Her eyes linger on him for a lot longer, but finally she walks towards us, brushing past me closely enough for me to smell her jasmine-scented perfume before stopping by my brother's side.

"Is there any reason for you to go to the hospital, Gloss?" she asks, her smile not extending to her deadly serious eyes.

"Not that I can see," says Gloss, echoing the formality in her voice perfectly. "Tell the president I thank him for his concern but also that there is nothing to worry about. I'm quite happy to stay here."

I have to force myself not to spin around so I can see him when I hear him say that. I find it almost impossible to believe the words were spoken by the same Gloss I had to gradually coax out of the Control Room less than an hour earlier. I scowl at the thought that he could do that for Narissa and not for me, but then I stop myself. It's easier for him to play his role with Narissa. She doesn't know who he really is so it's easier for him to maintain the act.

"See," crows Narissa triumphantly. "There's your answer. So please leave."

The White Coats don't have to be told twice, and they soon disappear as quickly as they arrived without saying another word. But I'm far too suspicious and know far too much about the Capitol to think we've heard the last of this.

"Don't glare so, Cashmere," says Narissa, reaching up to touch my forehead as if she's brushing my frown away. "One day you'll stick like it."

I instinctively jump away as if she'd scalded me with boiling water but then I smile slightly to apologise. She didn't have to help us then but she did, and I might not like her a lot of the time, but that doesn't mean I can't be grateful.

"Thank you," I whisper, speaking to her even as I turn to look at Gloss. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I did it for perfectly selfish reasons," she says as she smirks at Gloss before falling gracefully backwards onto the sofa and tapping the seat beside her.

He shakes his head at her and doesn't move. My eyes find his instantly.

"I'm sorry, Cash. I couldn't control it. It was like I was looking down on myself reacting like that and there was nothing I could do to stop it," he says, but when he continues his voice grows serious rather than apologetic. "But I saw you reach for your dagger. What were you going to do? You should never do that for me."

"Shut up, Gloss," I reply flatly, half serious and half playful and teasing. "You're my brother and I'd do the same all over again. I'll never let anyone take you from me."

He smiles almost sadly and sits down, pulling me with him so I'm on his one side and Narissa's on the other. The Capitolian woman shuffles around to lean back against the arm of the sofa, folding her legs neatly underneath her.

"Don't you remember what I told you?" she asks Gloss, uncurling a leg and nudging the outside of his thigh with the toe of a very pointed black boot. "This is the Capitol. You're only allowed to fall apart on the inside. At least pretend like you were listening or you'll hurt my ego terribly."

"I'm sure it's more than big enough to bear the pain," I reply, unable to resist.

She just laughs but then abruptly falls silent at the sound of footsteps as someone races down the corridor towards us. Seconds later the door flies open, slamming back against the wall with a deafening crash. Then Falco sees the three of us and he stops dead, his expression as close as he ever gets to visible confusion.

"I thought…"

"I got here first," says Narissa before he can finish, sounding far too smug for my liking. "And it's just as well I did, or your Butterfly would be in The Vault on a murder charge. Or worse."

"Don't call me Butterfly."

"A what? What are you talking about?"

Both Falco and I speak at exactly the same time, much to Narissa's amusement. She looks first at him and then at me, but her expression is considerably more serious when she finally looks back at him.

"They came to take Gloss away because of what happened in the Control Room," I say, speaking before she can. I know he'll know about what happened so I don't waste my time explaining. "I wasn't exactly going to stand here and let them."

He stares down at me, giving me the distinct impression that he'd be angry if he wasn't so worried.

"And have they dropped it now?"

"Of course," answers Narissa, her eyes following him as he sits down on the arm of the sofa next to me. "The whole Capitol's terrified of little old me."

Gloss rolls his eyes in response, and once again I'm shocked by how relaxed he is in her presence. Whether it's that which makes me feel more at ease, or if it's just Falco and the knowledge I'll soon be allowed to go home, I'm not sure, but something loosens my tongue enough to make my curiosity get the better of me.

"Are you two friends again?" I ask, knowing that the only person my meaning will be lost on is my brother.

"We're starting to get along," replies Falco, giving up on the arm of the sofa and pulling one of the other chairs across. "Maybe we can work together after all."

"Only if you admit you were wrong," says Narissa cryptically.

"I'm still not convinced I am wrong."

"You shouldn't believe everything people tell you."

"'Rissa," he growls warningly. "I think you know me well enough to know I don't do that."

"What are you talking about?" interrupts Gloss suddenly, starting to return to being the brother I know and love now he's away from the eyes and ears of the Capitol and the images of the arena. I'm just surprised he's remained silent and let them talk for as long as he has.

"Nothing," replies Narissa airily. "Falco and I had a bit of a disagreement, that's all. And now I have to go."

"Go where?"

"That's for me to know and you not to," she tells him teasingly before she springs lightly to her feet and almost dances from the room.

"I'd hate her but she really helped us then," I say to Falco before turning to Gloss. "What do you want to do now?"

"Stay here," he replies. "I know I should face them all so they know I haven't lost the plot entirely, but I don't want to."

"You'll have to soon," says Falco. "Both of you. You know the way the game works."

"Not right now," I say. "Maybe this evening or tomorrow. Gloss, you should go and get some sleep. You'll feel better if you do."

Surprisingly he nods and does as I say, and it's only when he's left the room that I realise he's probably only gone so Falco and I can have a couple of minutes alone. There's no way his seemingly ceaseless nightmares will let him sleep so that must be the reason.

"Did you really…resolve your difference of opinion with Narissa?"

"With her but not with what she thinks. She won't change her mind and neither will those who agree with her."

"But it's so stupid," I tell him, really struggling not to say anything that might reveal what we're actually talking about just in case there is someone listening in. "I told you before, fighting amongst yourselves gets you nowhere."

"When neither side will yield, there is little alternative," he replies, reaching across to take one of my hands in both of his. "But we'll get there in the end. I promised you that years ago and I meant it."

I sigh deeply. "I believed you then and I believe you now, but sometimes it's hard to see how it will ever happen."

"It will. I promise. I don't know how or when, but it will."

I say nothing in response, choosing instead to sit there and stare at our linked hands as they rest on the arm of my chair. We're still in the same position when Gloss reappears some time later, and neither of us move when he curls up next to me because his nightmares haunt him too much for him to sleep alone.

* * *

><p>Just as Falco predicted, we're left in peace for less than a day before the message arrives, politely suggesting to Gloss that he should consider doing an interview so the people of the Capitol can see for themselves that he is well. It's stamped with the president's seal and neither of us even consider ignoring it. It isn't worth it when we were expecting it anyway.<p>

Narissa arrives to reinforce the message about an hour later but she vanishes soon after, leaving Gloss and I alone once more. He looks anxious and exhausted as he shakes his head and tells me he doesn't want to keep doing this, but when he returns in clean clothes with his hair slightly damp from his shower, he has that determined look in his eyes that I love so much back. He walks over and kisses the top of my head before leaving as quickly as Narissa did. This is the Capitol, so there's nothing I can do but sit here and watch him go.

* * *

><p>District One might be out of the Games this year, but we are still one of the most popular districts so Gloss's interview is broadcast to the entire nation on one of the main television channels. When I watch him I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, my hands clenched in tight fists as I will him to get through it and wish I could be there in his place.<p>

I can tell just by looking at him that there's something wrong, but he's a son of District One and that means he's been acting all his life. He answers some questions and neatly deflects others, staring directly into the camera the whole time. I might see the signs of his nervousness, how he rubs his left forefinger and thumb together and taps his right heel against the step behind where he's standing, but I sincerely doubt many others will. To everyone else he will look calm and in control and that is all that matters.

They don't see him race back to the Level One dining room and throw himself into my arms. They don't see how tightly I cling to him as I attempt to stop his whole body from shaking.

* * *

><p>I'm terrified by the time Falco brings the morning newspapers, imagining all sorts of increasingly terrifying scenarios, but when I see the headlines I quickly realise Gloss did enough. There are no reporters eager to tell their readers that Gloss de Montfort had a breakdown in the Control Room or that he still didn't look well when he gave an interview. In fact they are all far too preoccupied by the Girl on Fire and her Lover Boy to mention my brother at all. For the first time ever I'm almost grateful to the pair of not-so-star-crossed lovers for causing such a distraction.<p>

"Butterfly, you really should go out," says Falco, speaking quietly so Gloss won't hear. "You could go and see Felix."

"Does Felix want to see me?" I ask, smiling at the thought of how successful the man I still think of as my stylist has become over the years. "Am I worthy of an audience with the Great One?"

Falco laughs and I can't help laughing with him. "He said to tell you he'd have come here if he wasn't so busy with his work. He asked me to ask you if you'd help him promote his new collection but I think he only said that because he wants to see you."

I smile at the thought of seeing Felix and my former prep team again but at the same time I know I can't. Not until the Games is over and we've taken Glimmer and Marvel back home. It wouldn't be right. And besides, I don't want to leave Gloss for any longer than I have to.

* * *

><p>The following day Narissa appears again, something that has become such a frequent occurrence that I almost get the impression she's trying to hide from something. If I thought for one second that she'd tell me what then I'd ask her, but I know I'd be wasting my time so instead I tell Gloss to ask her and decide I can interrogate him later. Then I immediately take it back when I realise it could be something to do with the rebellion and decide to ask Falco instead.<p>

"I'm going out," I announce, not feeling quite up to verbal sparring with Narissa this morning.

"Where?" asks Gloss, looking so concerned that I almost change my mind and sit back down.

"For a walk," I reply, teasing him by repeating the response he usually gives me when I ask him that question. "I want some fresh air and I have to face the vultures at some point," I continue, also borrowing his incredibly unflattering but rather appropriate nickname for the Capitolian reporters. "I might as well do both at the same time."

"Be careful."

"I'll be fine," I tell him with a smile that broadens when he immediately returns it in a way that makes me believe today might be one of his good days.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," says Narissa as she takes one of the mugs from the sideboard and puts it by the coffee machine.

"I think I'll be safer if I stick to 'Don't do anything you _would _do," I retort, and her laughter follows me all the way down the corridor.

* * *

><p>I had no real idea where I was going to go once I'd spoken as briefly as I could to the reporters gathered at the Training Centre entrance, but I soon find myself heading towards the Control Room building and I don't stop myself. I need to know when the Games end because when they do, Gloss and I can go home. And besides, Cato has been pursuing Thresh through the grass fields in search of vengeance since the day Clove died. Part of me wants to see what happens when they finally meet, and not for the first time, my curiosity gets the better of me.<p>

"What are you doing back here, de Montfort?" calls Augustus as soon as I set foot inside the main Control Room. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"Apparently not," I reply as I cross the room and sit down in the chair that had been Falco's when we'd all been here still fighting.

Augustus quickly turns his attention back to the two tributes who are continuing to battle with both each other and the rain, so I look in the opposite direction and my eyes fall on a very tired-looking Marcus Arrowsmith. That's when I remember that his Lysandra, the girl who Katniss Everdeen aptly calls Foxface, the girl who is now famous across all of Panem for walking through the minefield, is still alive.

"Have you left this room since the starting gong rang?" I ask him, not unkindly.

"Only when I have to," he replies. "If this carries on then they'll end up killing each other. Then maybe she's got a chance."

"Maybe she has," I say, surprised to find I agree with him.

Lysandra Newton didn't look like she'd survive the first day of the Games when she was reaped and she looks even worse now, but she has such intelligence that it makes up for her physical weakness. Her mentor saw something in her right from the beginning and it seems now that he was right to. Especially if Thresh and Cato do actually fight to the death of them both and the only remaining tributes left for her to outwit are Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Other than Lysandra herself, the true brains of the arena this year died with Clove. If Thresh and Cato die then she really has got every chance.

I look back up at the big screen then, watching the two tributes driving each other backwards and forwards through the mud and rain. Thresh is strong and is almost holding his own despite his lack of skill and training. My first thought is that Glimmer would be impressed if she could see him now, but I quickly push it away to the back of my mind, especially when I realise I don't think he's going to win. He never will. Not against Cato.

The man from District Two fights like he's possessed. Since the day of the feast he has been a man possessed. A man possessed by all-consuming grief that appears to be the only thing he seems neither able nor willing to fight.

The battle rages on and on but I can only see one possible outcome. Imagining the time when Thresh finally falls makes me think of Glimmer again. I picture her reaction and the pain she'd surely have felt at his death and I have to look away from the screen.

"I thought I'd find you here," says a soft voice behind me, and I turn to see Falco there, staring down at me with that very familiar concerned look in his eyes.

"I had nowhere else to go," I whisper. "Can you stay?" I continue, speaking even more quietly this time.

"You're in my chair," he says flatly.

"Use mine," I reply, smiling despite everything when he does.

"I told you three days ago that you would regret killing her. Are you sorry yet, District 11?" roars Cato, his voice suddenly filling the room as he shouts above the noise of the rain.

"This is the Hunger Games, Career. You of all people should know the rules," retorts Thresh, his spirit clearly no more broken than his body. For perhaps the first time I see why Glimmer was drawn to him.

"There can only be one end to this," growls Cato as he charges forwards once more, sending his opponent reeling back.

"All of this is for Clove," I say, again speaking quietly so Vikus and Augustus can't hear.

"Of course it is. Because he loved her," Falco replies, his eyes never leaving the two tributes on the screen.

I gasp when Cato slips in the mud and loses his balance, his sword flying out of his hand. Thresh brings his own sword flying up towards his opponent's throat and suddenly the room is so silent it's like everyone has even stopped breathing. At that moment I don't know who I want to live and who I want to die. Perhaps it's because I want them both to live, despite how I suspect one of them would most likely choose to die if the circumstances were different, if he had not promised his girl that he would win.

Somehow Cato manages to move out of reach and Thresh's blade catches on the fabric of his shirt instead of sinking into his skin. I feel a lump form in my throat and my breath catches when the camera zooms in on the token around his neck that bears Clove's name, but Augustus only cries out for Cato to pick up his sword and start fighting again. Vikus remains silent and still, his face giving away no hint of what he's feeling inside. If indeed he feels anything, which is something I find more difficult to believe than I would with virtually anyone else.

Then the next second it's over. Three long days of almost ceaseless battle is over when Cato takes advantage of how Thresh is momentarily distracted by the idea of the victory he obviously thought was his by pulling a knife from his belt and driving it into the other man's heart. Just like I did to Dahlia.

I try to get up but I suddenly can't breathe. The walls of the room seem to turn grey and close in on me. When I shut my eyes I can almost hear the water trickling slowly and noisily down them. I push back on my chair but something pulls me back. Falco.

"Open your eyes, Cashmere," he commands firmly. "Look at me."

I do as he says and when I look up at his face I begin to calm down. A short time later I've pulled myself together enough to look around the room, hoping that people won't be staring at me. Thresh deserves more than that. He deserves a death that people acknowledge and mourn, even if it is only for a short time and only from the Control Room.

"I almost lost you again," whispers Falco, his voice totally different to how it had been only seconds before.

"He killed him like I killed Dahlia."

"I know. I don't know what to say to you but I know."

"He didn't deserve to die," I whisper, and though my voice is barely audible, Falco hushes me immediately.

"Don't say things like that," he hisses. "Especially not in here."

"It's true," I reply.

He doesn't say anything and gets up, pushing his chair neatly under the desk before striding towards the glass doors. I follow him without hesitation, not wanting to witness Chaff and Seeder's grief and disappointment or Vikus's arrogant satisfaction. Ursala said once that District Two's most famous Victor should watch his back if Cato ever wears the Hunger Games crown, and when I see the smug look in his eyes, I find myself hoping the blue-eyed man wins and that my friend was right. I don't know Vikus, but I've seen and heard enough to know that he'd deserve whatever fate was awaiting him.

* * *

><p>"Falco, are you mad at me?" I ask when I finally catch up with him on the pathway that leads back to the Training Centre.<p>

"I'm not mad at you, I'm scared for you. You shouldn't speak like that where people can hear you, you know that."

"It isn't fair," I reply, hating how child-like I sound. "I want to go home."

"I know you do, and you can. The Games will be over very soon."

"I'm sorry. I just…"

"I know," he replies, speaking for me when I can't find words. "But you have to be so careful."

"And so do you. Where are you going?"

"How do you know I'm going anywhere?"

"You've got that 'going to a meeting' expression," I reply flatly at the same time as trying to stop myself from laughing. Not for the first time I wonder what it is about being here that makes my emotions so changeable.

"I have that what?"

"You heard," I reply. "And I was hoping you wouldn't have to go."

He simply looks at me, his raised eyebrows telling me all I need to know about what he's thinking.

"I didn't mean it like that," I say, speaking as loudly as I dare when we're standing mere metres away from the City Circle.

"That's a pity," he replies.

"Does that mean you're not mad at me?"

"No," he says with a smirk, already turning to walk away. "I can think what I was thinking and still be mad at you."

I try to scowl at him but it doesn't work because I end up laughing at the same time, so I swiftly head back towards the Training Centre. Someone might see us so it doesn't do to look too relaxed. My only problem is that it constantly seems to be getting harder and harder to remember that sometimes.

* * *

><p>"I'm sure you're not supposed to be here," I observe when I walk into the dining room to find Narissa on one of the armchairs, curled up like a highly over-pampered house cat.<p>

"There's no law that says I can't be," she replies lazily, lifting her arms above her head and stretching in a way that only enhances the previous comparison I made.

"Don't you have a party to go to? Some politicians to manipulate? Business people to cheat? You must have at least one of your usual pastimes to keep you occupied…"

She laughs. "You missed a pastime off your list," she says lightly, looking over my shoulder at the same time as I sense Gloss appear in the doorway behind me. "I chose that one."

I hiss in disgust and glare at her before turning back to look at Gloss.

"You went to the Control Room, didn't you?" he says, phrasing his words like a question even though I can tell he already knows the answer.

"Thresh is dead."

"I know. He died when he smashed that rock against the girl's head. Just like Marvel died when he stuck that little District Eleven."

I nod when he says that, temporarily forgetting Narissa's presence. The amount of tributes seeking revenge in this arena is one of the things that makes it unusual, however in many ways it is like all those which came before it.

The Hunger Games is always cruel, barbaric and painful to watch, but that's part of what has kept the majority of the Capitol's population entranced for so many years. No matter what happens they always want to see what will happen next, and even those in the districts aren't immune to that feeling. I know because I feel it too. I don't want to look but at the same time I can't look away, and that is why I'm still watching the television screen nearly two days later as Cato edges ever closer to death.

I had to leave the room when the Gamemakers' muttations dragged him into the Cornucopia as something told me they wouldn't give him the mercy of a quick end, and that was many hours ago. Now I've returned, all I can hear is the faint echo of his pain-filled cries as they refuse to let his torment end.

When the girl from District Twelve finally leans down over the edge of the Cornucopia to end Cato's suffering, I suspect he's long since lost his mind and doesn't even see her. His last word before she fires her arrow is an uncharacteristic and barely audible 'please', but the name that was his penultimate word wasn't Katniss. It was Clove.

* * *

><p>And when that final cannon fires, it leaves the pair from District Twelve as the last two tributes standing. The Victors, if the rule change is to be believed, but as they slowly slide down the side of the Cornucopia and struggle towards the lake without the trumpets sounding for the end of the Games, I can tell something isn't right.<p>

Peeta Mellark can hardly move, and he's losing so much blood that I don't think he'll last much longer despite his district partner's clumsy but not altogether unsuccessful attempts to help him. A couple of people have speculated that he deliberately poisoned Lysandra by leaving out the nightlock berries for her to find, but I think that's rubbish. She'd never have been that stupid and he'd never have been that intelligent. If I hadn't seen the look in Marcus Arrowsmith's eyes when his tribute girl died then I'd have thought no more about it, but what I saw told me there was more to what happened than first met the eye. However I said nothing and I never will. If the girl chose the only freedom she was ever likely to get then I'd never be the one to make those she loved suffer for it.

They get to the lake eventually and the hovercraft arrives to take Cato away. I can't bear to watch the blood running along the thin metal chain of Clove's district token as it hangs down below him, still around his neck despite everything the muttations did.

When I look back at Katniss I can tell by the look in her eyes that she thinks that's it, that she thinks moving away from the Cornucopia was all they had to do to end this. However I've known the ways of the Capitol for a lot longer than she has, so I'm almost expecting Claudius Templesmith's announcement when it comes. It's no surprise to me that they're going back on their word and have now decided there can only be one winner after all.

I look at each of the others in turn, seeing shock on Narissa's face for the first time in my memory and something that looks like acceptance on Falco's. He wasn't surprised by the announcement either. When I look at Gloss he's looking back at me, torn between confusion and what could almost be relief.

"They don't deserve a rule change just for them," he says as we both turn back to the screen to see Katniss and Peeta arguing over who is going to live and who is going to die.

When I see that they both want to be the one who dies, I feel a sympathy for them I haven't felt since Katniss volunteered to take her sister's place. Everything Katniss did in the arena, she did to save her own life. I can't blame her for that, and besides, I know how angry I'd be if I were to be watching Cato and Clove in the same position instead. I'd have wanted the both of them to live, and Katniss and Peeta are as much victims of the Capitol as us all. Maybe they both deserve to live too.

"They don't deserve to die either, Gloss," I whisper. "Not really."

"If they don't do something soon then the Gamemakers will force them to," says Falco, his expression still fixed in that way he has which tells me he's trying to stop his emotions from showing.

"What is she doing?" asks Narissa suddenly, pointing a perfectly-manicured finger at Katniss's image as the girl takes something from her belt.

"Trust me," she whispers to Peeta, pouring something from the pouch in her hand out onto his. "On the count of three," she continues as she does the same for herself.

"The count of three," he replies, kissing her softly. For once their feelings look genuine rather than forced.

Then they turn around to stand back to back, making all four of us lean closer to the screen.

"Hold them out. I want everyone to see," says Peeta, and then I realise what they're doing.

"Nightlock," I gasp as they begin their countdown. When Gloss grips my hand I know he's worked it out as well.

They put the berries in their mouths, but just as they do the trumpets sound and Claudius desperately calls for them to stop. He announces them as the joint Victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games as the whole country looks on in shock. None of us seems to be capable of saying a word until Narissa finally breaks the silence.

"Now that's probably the most interesting thing anyone from District Twelve has ever done."

* * *

><p><em><strong>My confidence levels are a little shaky this week so I'm not sure what I think about this one, but I guess you're the judges... <strong>_

_**Let me know what you think and if you could give me your opinion on the following question as well then that would be fabulous: Do you think the mentors of the tributes who didn't win go home as soon as the Games finish or do you think they have to wait for the Victory Ceremony to finish? Thank you :) **_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Thanks to all of you who reviewed last time and confirmed my own suspicions that writing the Victory Ceremony would be a good idea. This is the result so I hope you all like it...**_

Chapter Thirteen

Interesting? I can think of a lot of words I could use to describe the double attempted suicide I've just witnessed turn into the Hunger Games' first ever double victory, but 'interesting' wouldn't be high on the list.

"What do you mean?" I ask, still watching the screen as Katniss and an almost dead-looking Peeta are lifted into a hovercraft.

"If you're naïve enough to need an explanation then I can't give you one," replies Narissa, her voice full of false-sweetness as she smiles across at me.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," I snap, leaning towards her until Falco pulls me back.

"What Katniss did-" he begins.

"Stupid!" exclaims Narissa, cutting him off mid-sentence with all trace of sweetness long gone. "Are you mad? Or is your mind just clouded by lust? You can't talk in a place like this."

"I told you 'Rissa," he replies, calmly ignoring her accusation. "There's nobody listening but us. A very reliable ally has checked, double-checked and then triple-checked. Twice. I think I'd managed to try even his patience before I was happy."

I have no idea who that reliable ally is, but Falco's words seem to soothe Narissa almost instantly. She relaxes back against the arm of the sofa, pushing her feet under Gloss's leg until he growls at her to at least take her shoes off first. She laughs, sounding almost girlish as she lifts her legs up until he removes her scarily high-heeled court shoes for her. She swats at him when he drops them loudly to the ground but then she puts her feet on his lap and looks back at Falco. I scowl at her, wishing I could see a scar or a blemish on one of her slim ankles. However I can't and so she remains perfect, on the outside at least.

"So is anyone going to explain?" I ask, exchanging a look with Gloss before turning back to Falco.

"What does the Capitol demand above everything else?"

"Our lives?" replies Gloss immediately. "Our souls? Not that it thinks Cash and I have them. We're just insignificant district people after all."

"Obedience," I say quietly, cringing at the bitterness and anger dripping from my brother's words.

"Why?" asks Falco, making me scowl at him for doing that asking me questions until I work it out myself thing. "What does obedience give Snow?"

I think about it for a minute, wondering how any of this could possibly have something to do with Katniss and Peeta, and eventually I work out the first bit even though I'm still none the wiser about the second.

"Control," I reply flatly. "The government has nothing without the obedience of the people."

"Very good, Cashmere," says Narissa. "Very good. But what does that mean in this case?"

"I don't know," I tell her, not willing to play the same game with her as I do with Falco.

"The Hunger Games starts with twenty-four tributes and ends with one winner, yes?"

"Obviously," I retort bad-temperedly, glaring at Falco when he laughs quietly at me.

"Because the Capitol decreed that the Game would work that way?"

"Your point is?"

"By making the Gamemakers choose between having the two of them or neither of them, District Twelve took the control for themselves."

I turn to face Gloss at the sound of his voice as the meaning of Narissa's first sentence abruptly becomes clear. There is every chance that Katniss Everdeen wasn't thinking straight when she tipped those berries into Peeta's hand and then into her own. There is every chance that all she could think was that she didn't want Peeta to die and that she didn't want to die either. However both Narissa and Falco's first reaction to what they saw was to think it could be viewed as an act of open rebellion. And if they thought that then it's highly likely that others will too.

"You don't talk of this to anyone," says Falco firmly, his voice cutting into my thoughts. "Neither of you. Do you understand? Cashmere, are you listening?"

I nod, looking into his eyes even though most of my attention is devoted to imagining what President Snow must be thinking right now. Does he think what happened in the arena was a deliberate act of defiance? Is he going to do anything about it?

"What will happen now?"

"Nothing, I expect," he replies. "Not openly anyway. What happened will be pushed to the background as if the Gamemakers intended for there to be two victors all along and everything was an elaborate set up to make the Games more exciting. They'll focus on something else instead, probably the love story. And it's only if Everdeen and Mellark mess up that anything will happen."

"Mess up?"

"Forget to play whichever roles they're given."

"Oh."

"So you say nothing and do nothing that you wouldn't normally. You go to the Victory Ceremony and then you both go home."

"And when will that be?"

"When those two are deemed fit to be seen in public," replies Narissa dryly. "Judging by the state of Everdeen's hair, that could be a while yet."

I don't know whether to despise her for her flippancy or laugh, so in the end I do neither. I shrug my shoulders and move to curl up beside Falco, long since past caring what Narissa thinks. Hopefully the ceremony will happen sooner than I think. Hopefully soon they'll let us go home.

* * *

><p>For the next few days that followed they made us wait and wait and then wait some more. The rumours flying around the city became wilder with every minute that passed, but it was only yesterday, when one reporter came up with the theory that one of the star-crossed lovers didn't survive the injuries they sustained in the arena, that they finally made the announcement everyone had been waiting for. They were ready. The Victory Ceremony would be tomorrow night. So here I am. Waiting for District Twelve to be crowned so Gloss and I can go home.<p>

"Cash! Cash, where are you?"

"I'm here, Gloss," I reply, instinctively running to the door in time to see him heading towards the sound of my voice even though I can tell there's nothing really wrong. "What is it?"

"Felix is here," he says, nodding back the way he came.

"Felix? Why? I thought Auriel had to dress me," I reply, trying and failing to stop myself from shuddering at the thought.

"Ask him yourself," he replies, dragging me towards my bedroom. "He said something about you being his responsibility and nothing to do with Auriel."

"Where are we going? Why is Felix in my bedroom?"

"Because I'm still your stylist, Miss de Montfort," comes Felix's deliberately over-formal response as he leans out of the doorway. "And you have a Victory Ceremony to attend."

"But-"

I don't get chance to finish my sentence because as soon as I set foot inside the room I am engulfed by Charis and Callista, who both throw themselves on me like the last time we saw each other really was when I won the Games.

"I'll see you when it's time to face our evil destiny," calls Gloss, looking on in amusement for a second before disappearing in the direction of his own room.

"Evil destiny?" asks Charis, releasing me just enough for her to be able to look up at me, her face innocently questioning.

"Never mind, Charis," I reply, my eyes drifting over her shoulder to meet Drusilla's as I notice her for the first time. She nods, and I can tell by her expression that she knows exactly what my brother meant.

"Yes, never mind, Charis," she echoes. "Cashmere needs to be ready for the cameras and we've only got a few hours."

"I'm insulted that you think it's going to take you that long," I reply, pretending to be offended. "Do I look like I come from the district that's celebrating it's victory?"

She laughs at that and so do the others. "Certainly not. You've always had style, Cashmere. And talking of style, how is your sister? Did she get the suit I sent her?"

"She's fine," I say, amused by the interest the leader of my prep team seems to take in my sister. "And she did get the suit. She was wearing it when she became the mayor."

For some reason that makes Drusilla smile, but rather than allow me to stop and question her, she immediately chivvies me into the bathroom, telling both me and her companions that Felix won't wait forever.

* * *

><p>"I don't want to go, Felix," I whisper many hours later when my prep team finally decide they've both finished with me and have no more gossip to discuss. "And I don't want Gloss to go to the Victory Banquet."<p>

"You can't stop it, not any of it," he replies, shaking his head slightly at my last comment. He might have been born and bred in the Capitol but he's never approved of the president's favourite business venture with the Victors. "But get tonight over with and you can both go home. Once you get through tonight it will be over. So come here so I can help you put this on," he adds, holding the black garment bag up so I can see it.

"What is it this time?" I ask, looking forward to seeing what he's made for me despite the circumstances. "Diamonds? Gold sequins?"

"Definitely not gold sequins," he says with a shudder, no doubt thinking of the almost-dress that Auriel put Glimmer in on Interview Night. "I thought this would be more appropriate, although I hope you'll forgive me for being honest and saying you weren't the one who inspired me to make it."

I close my eyes without him having to ask me to and let my robe fall to the floor. The fabric feels like silk when he slides it over my body, but when I look in the mirror I'm covered with thousands of sparkling emeralds. Emeralds that exactly match the colour Glimmer's eyes had been.

"Is this such a good idea?" I ask eventually, turning back and forth so the stones catch the light and sparkle even more as the fabric of the long skirt moves with me. "Is it making too much of a…statement?"

"Do you want to wear it, Cashmere?"

I think about that for a minute but by the time I tell him my answer I realise I knew all along. I might be going to the City Circle to celebrate the stupid Girl on Fire, but nobody in Panem can force me to think of her. This dress reminded me of Glimmer instantly and I can wear it for her. I can wear it to remember the girl who didn't deserve to die.

"Yes, Felix. I want to wear it."

"Good," he replies with a smile. "I was hoping you'd say that because I didn't bring another one and I think Falco would have something to say about me sending you to the ceremony naked."

"I think _I'd _have something to say about you sending me to the ceremony naked. And that's assuming you were still alive when Gloss was through with you, which is something I highly doubt would be the case."

He laughs and when he steps forward to hug me I hug him back. I've missed our conversations, I've missed his support. I've just missed him, and when Charis and Callista bound back into the room with Drusilla following more sedately behind them, I decide I've missed them too.

"Will you come back for our next show?" asks Callista, wrapping both of her arms tightly around my right one. "There's this dress that's just perfect for you."

"Say you will," pleads Charis, grasping my other arm as she jumps in to support her friend and partner-in-crime. "Please say you will."

"I don't think you're being given a choice here," adds Felix, content to maintain the illusion that I have a choice for their sake, despite how we both know I haven't.

"I will," I tell Charis and Callista. Then I look over Charis's shoulder to Felix. "I would anyway."

He smiles at that and then swats his employees away from me, jokingly admonishing them by telling them they'll crease my dress. I laugh when Charis immediately shrieks in horror at the thought and jumps away from me, but then my smile fades. Wouldn't it be nice for that to be the only thing you have to find horrifying?

* * *

><p>When Gloss sees me in my dress he just stands there and stares, seemingly lost for words. I don't know how much time passes but it feels like forever before he walks across to me and reaches up to touch his fingers to the thin strap at my shoulder.<p>

"Glimmer," he says. "She should have worn that."

"I wish she was here to wear it," I say, leaning up to whisper into his ear in case our conversation isn't as private as we'd like it to be. "But I'm wearing it for her. Felix and I agreed that it's the next best thing."

"Is it safe?" he asks, his eyes full of concern. "You remember what Falco and 'Rissa said about the nightlock, don't you?"

"I'm wearing a dress that sparkles because the Capitol likes to see me in sparkly things," I reply evenly. "Any supposed symbolic meaning taken from it's colour is purely coincidental and in no way deliberate."

"Unless you know differently," he whispers, appearing reassured by my words as he pushes my hair back behind my shoulders.

"Unless you know differently," I echo in response before speaking in a much louder voice. "Shall we go then? I think it's time to see the show."

"And the award for Best Actress goes to…Katniss Everdeen," he replies, his tone cruelly mocking. "Who has convinced virtually the whole nation that she really is in love with that boy."

"She'll have to be convincing tonight," I say, speaking in a barely audible whisper as I link my arm through his and we start down the corridor. "If what Falco heard is true then I wouldn't like to be in her shoes if she isn't."

"We'll soon find out."

Something about the way he says that makes me think he's hoping to see Katniss fall, and while the logical part of my mind tells me she's a sixteen-year-old girl caught in the middle of a world she can't hope to understand, the rest of my mind sees her through my brother's eyes, sees the girl who brought about Glimmer's death and killed Marvel. I can see no good coming from what happened in the Seventy-fourth Games, and I hope more than anything that the names Everdeen and Mellark are forgotten as quickly as they became famous.

* * *

><p>When we finally get to the City Circle it feels like the entire population of the Capitol has gathered to see the reappearance of the two tributes who changed Hunger Games history forever. There are people crowded together in the side streets, people leaning out of the windows of the surrounding buildings and even people standing on the roofs, all waiting for a glimpse of two tributes from the smallest and most insignificant district in the country. I wonder if either of them have any idea what they've started?<p>

Gloss tightens his grip on my arm as numerous officials usher us to the foot of the stage and I see that many of the other mentors are already there, most of them wearing fine Capitol-made clothes and smiles that don't quite reach their eyes. Beetee and Wiress stand close together as far away from the audience as possible, and the closest to them is Marcus Arrowsmith, who is there physically but seems mentally somewhere else entirely. I can see the grief he feels for Lysandra in his expression and body language even from this distance.

"Does that man even own a shirt?" asks Gloss in a low voice, nodding disgustedly in the direction of a definitely shirtless Finnick Odair.

"I don't think he has a choice about what he wears, Gloss," I reply, scowling all the same. "Or should I say 'what he doesn't wear'," I continue, trying to make him smile.

When I turn to look at him, I see that it almost worked, but what there was of his smile fades immediately when the mentors from District Two arrive to stand a short distance away from us. I watch as he squares up to Augustus, the pair of them immaculately dressed in their black suits and a complete contrast to Finnick Odair's carefully designed scruffiness.

I know I should do something to intervene but I haven't the strength, especially not tonight. They've been doing this since well before the Games started and they've never actually got into a fight. I see no reason why now would be any different.

"They should have killed that girl," says a low voice from my other side, momentarily distracting me from Gloss and Augustus. "She'll only bring trouble for everyone."

"She's only a girl," I reply cautiously, forcing myself to look up into Vikus's cold, grey eyes. "Nobody will remember her name by this time next year."

"Perhaps. But perhaps not."

I sense he's waiting for my response but I don't get chance to speak again because Gloss abruptly steps forwards so he's right in front of Augustus, their faces only inches apart.

"Take that back," growls my brother, his eyes narrowed in fury. "You take it back right now."

"Boys, please," I call lightly, intervening before the man from Two can reply. "I don't think this is really the time, do you?"

I walk across to them with deliberate slowness, hoping I'm right in thinking Augustus will look at me and temporarily forget his argument with Gloss. Sure enough, his eyes follow me every step of the way, and it's a struggle to stop myself from shivering in disgust. I push Gloss back so I'm standing between them and facing Augustus.

"Leave us," I command, nodding furiously towards the opposite side of the area they have us gathered in. "Now."

"What's it worth, Cashmere?" he drawls, looking me slowly up and down.

"You not having a matching scar on the other side of your face," I retort immediately, noticing how no amount of effort on the part of his prep team seems to be able to disguise the angry looking scar across his left cheekbone.

Vikus laughs at that, a cruel laugh that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. "Marcelli may be dead but his memory lives on in that scar," he says amusedly, his laughter lingering on in his voice. "Let's go. They're waiting."

When I follow the direction of his gaze I see the Capitolian officials beginning to show the first of the mentors to their seats in the stand on the stage. We'll be sitting where the stylists sat for the first interview. Right at the front where we can see everyone and everyone can see us. The newly crowned Victors aren't the only ones who have to endure the replay of the arena in full view of the audience and the cameras. That is a delight the Capitol saves for the likes of Gloss and I as well.

This time I make sure to sit between my brother and District Two, taking no chances after what happened with Augustus, but I needn't have worried because neither of them seem in the mood to continue their feud once they're faced with the eyes of hundreds of thousands of watching Capitolians.

"Can't they get on with it?" asks Gloss, leaning down to whisper in my ear. He takes my hand in his and I suddenly feel how much he's shaking.

"They will," I whisper back, trying to sound calmer than I really feel. "In their own time."

The spotlights all simultaneously light up just as I finish speaking, flashing around the audience before finally settling on the centre of the stage and making everyone fall silent instantly. The first thing I see is that they've done away with the ornate, throne-like chair that I sat on during my ceremony and replaced it with a some kind of red sofa that looks just about big enough to seat two. I guess that means there's no chance of the star-crossed lovers angle ever dying then.

"Look at-"

I strain to hear the end of Gloss's sentence but his voice is drowned out by the noise of the crowd when Caesar Flickerman bounds onto the stage in his usual exuberant manner. He starts the ceremony off by introducing each and every one of the District Twelve support team, starting with the two prep teams and ending with Haymitch Abernathy.

It's obvious he's stone-cold sober but he looks like he wishes more than anything that he wasn't, and though the only time I've ever touched alcohol was the night after the second time Snow sold me, I still imagine I'd be thinking the same thing if I were him. I wonder how much he knows or guesses about the potential repercussions of what his tributes did in the arena. He's a lot of things but you don't win a Quarter Quell by being stupid so I'm sure he has a good idea of what's going on behind the scenes where the majority of the audience can't see.

Falco and I had been trying to decide how they'd make the next part of the ceremony work when they have two Victors instead of one, and as they raise both Katniss and Peeta up onto the stage at the same time, I find myself scanning the opposite stand until my eyes find Falco's. He's sitting with a lot of the other politicians a short distance from the Gamemakers and only looks at me for the briefest of seconds, but it's long enough for me to smirk across at him. He thought they'd bring them onto the stage one at a time, whereas I thought they'd go for the dramatic like they always do. Despite the situation being anything but light-hearted, I still love being right.

Peeta Mellark walks with the aid of a cane, which straight away confirms the rumours that at least one of them isn't as physically whole as they were before the Games, but Katniss Everdeen looks as if she's never seen the arena.

"She looks like a little girl," says Vikus, and I nod subconsciously in agreement.

She does look like a little girl in her dress of shimmering yellow fabric, which seems to cling to her body in all the wrong places. I find myself looking across the stage to Falco again and see his intense concentration in his expression. This all means something, I'm sure it does, and it's all to do with what we were talking about at the end of the Games. I only wish I knew what.

The next few minutes that seem like a lifetime are full of reunions and kisses, which I look at like I have to but try not to really see. When I think of Katniss and Peeta I find myself imagining a different ending, an ending where Cato and Clove were the last two left standing instead. I imagine Cato lifting Clove off her feet in front of the whole nation on that stage and wish that had happened instead. I've tried to find it in me to feel something other than dislike for the pair from Twelve but I can't. Even if Katniss hadn't been the one who'd ended Glimmer and Marvel, there's still something about them which rings of lies and performance. The Capitol can't see it but I can and I don't think I'll ever see past it.

I turn to Gloss and his eyes have also glazed over. He's twisting his hands together in his lap like he sometimes does when I know he's thinking of Glimmer, almost as if the anger he feels at her death is threatening to overwhelm him and he has to do something to restrain himself. I try to imagine a scenario where Glimmer did win, where I am looking down at her sitting in the victor's chair and waiting for her to decide if she could love my brother or not while President Snow works out exactly how rich she's going to make him.

As soon as I picture it in my mind I realise I'm glad it didn't happen. There's one thing I know would break Gloss even more than Glimmer's death, and that is watching what happened to him happen to her. He wouldn't survive watching President Snow sell Glimmer to the highest bidder, I know that, and for that reason, awful though it sounds even inside my own head, I'm almost glad she died.

When Haymitch eventually manages to separate his tributes and make them sit down on the red chair, Katniss kicks off her shoes and curls up against Peeta. He immediately puts his arm around her and I'm almost convinced they're actually in love. Almost.

Then what is normally the real show begins and we see the condensed version of the Games. As they did for me, Gloss and all of the Victors who came before and after us, they start with the reapings and the build up to the arena, focussing mostly on District Twelve's love story, of course. Of Cato and Clove's love, there is no sign at all.

They show virtually the whole of the first battle, and my breath catches when Glimmer appears on the screen, standing as tall and straight as the spear she holds and looking a hundred times more beautiful than she ever did during her interview. Gloss takes my hand and his grip gets steadily tighter and tighter. By the time we both turn away as the tracker jacker nest hits the ground, I know I'll have bruises for days.

The moment Marvel drives his spear through the little girl from District Eleven is shown in full and the whole crowd gasps in horror all over again. I flinch when the next sequence shown is Katniss's arrow flying into his throat but nobody else seems to notice. I find Falco in the crowd and catch the sympathetic look he sends me before it swiftly vanishes a split second later like it was never there at all. I promised I wouldn't look at him all night, but by now I've lost count of how many times I've broken that promise.

You could hear a pin drop in the City Circle as Katniss sings to Rue, and even Gloss seems to be listening as he stares into the distance and refuses to let go of my hand. But then the film moves on and suddenly everything is about Katniss and Peeta's relationship. My attention drifts away as I begin to think of tomorrow, of when I can finally go home, and by the time I return to the present, Cato is fighting the muttations at the base of the Cornucopia.

"If Marcelli hadn't been so obsessed with Jacia then we'd have been sitting on that stage instead of up here," snarls Vikus, almost as if he's talking to himself.

I pretend I didn't hear even though I want nothing more than to ask him if he's capable of feeling emotions at all. Even something as brutal and horrific as Cato's death seems to have no effect on him at whatsoever, and it's that total lack of feeling which leaves me more terrified of him than I am of anyone else in existence. With one obvious exception, of course.

Before I know it, that one obvious exception is on the stage, placing the crowns on Katniss and Peeta's heads with that fixed, snake-like expression on his face. I shiver and look away, shuffling as close to Gloss as I can get with the arm of my chair between us. The president seems to be making a point of endorsing the pair from Twelve exactly as Falco predicted he would. Snow is hoping to make everyone think he was in on the plan all along, that everything that happened in the arena this year was another elaborate Gamemaker plan to ensure the audience are kept entertained. I look around at the faces of the audience and wonder how many of them know better.

"We're going now, Cash," says Gloss, standing up and pulling me with him as I notice Caesar waving to the cheering crowd as Katniss and Peeta are swiftly whisked off the stage.

"Are you going?" I whisper, my voice shaking as I ask the question I've been putting off and trying not to think about for days. "To the Victory Banquet, I mean."

"No," he says, putting his arm around me and pulling me close. "Not this year.

He hides his invitations so well that I don't think I've ever seen one, and I'm never stupid enough to actually bring the subject up with him, so usually in situations like this he just drifts away when I'm distracted, almost as though he's trying to make it easier for me even when he's the one suffering. I expected him to do the same tonight, but when he laughs at what must be my really obvious sigh of relief before leading me down the steps to the foot of the stage, I finally believe what he said and accept that this year will be different.

"How?" I ask as we hurry across the entranceway of the Training Centre before the reporters recover from the excitement of the ceremony enough to think about chasing us for interviews. "There's no way…"

There's no way Snow would give someone as popular as you a night like this one off, is what I want to say, but my words trail away before I can bring myself to get them out.

"A little bird told me to stay with you," he replies. "That's all I know."

A little bird. Redsparrow. This is Narissa's work, it has to be. For some reason she seems to value my little brother's sanity almost as much as I do, although beyond the obvious, I have no idea why. Perhaps this is the famous loyalty Falco always tells me she has.

* * *

><p>I don't wake the following morning until the soft, insistent knock at the door finally makes me open my eyes. I jump to my feet, instantly wary after what happened before.<p>

"What is it?" asks Gloss groggily from the other side of the sofa.

The knocking starts up again, answering his question for me, and he responds by getting up to stand by my side.

"Who's there?"

When I get no answer I walk tentatively across the room and open the door. I know instantly why I didn't hear a response when I see the young man standing there in the white uniform of an Avox.

"What do you want?" I ask when he continues to stare at me without doing anything.

He holds a folded piece of paper out to me and for a second my stomach churns and my heart begins to race. Then I see there is no envelope and that it isn't gilt-edged. It isn't from Snow. It isn't one of _those _invitations.

What I actually see is a short note written in an almost child-like hand by someone asking me to meet them. The signature is two initials. UB.

"Cash?"

"I have to go out for a while. Will you be okay here?"

"I'm not a child," replies Gloss amusedly. "And besides, Narissa Redsparrow says I'm perfectly sane, so I wouldn't dare have another breakdown."

"It's not funny, Gloss," I scold, but I can't stop myself from smiling despite my stern words. "I won't be long."

Clutching the note tightly in my hand, I get to the main doors of the Training Centre before I realise I have no idea where I'm going. However when I think about it properly, I realise that I already know.

"You worked it out then?" calls Ursala when I get within sight of the bench on the path to the Control Room.

"Do you have so little faith in my intelligence that you thought I wouldn't?" I retort, pretending to be offended.

"Well you are from District One," she replies. "Intelligence isn't something you're famous for."

I scowl as I sit down on the bench, deliberately pushing her roughly even though there's plenty of room.

"I'm not mentoring so they wouldn't let me into the Training Centre," she explains, smiling slightly and pushing her hair behind her shoulders. "Which is why I sent the note." I nod. "Sorry about the writing," she adds. "When I was a girl they preferred me to use a knife than a pen."

"I'm sorry about Clove," I say, not knowing if she really knew her or not but feeling I should say something now the mention of her past made me think about it.

"She gave Velia her first look at the Arena but I didn't know her properly," she replies. "But my district won't forget her, especially after Cato swore that oath and sealed it with his blood in the middle of the Games."

"That's the kind of thing your district would remember," I say wryly. "But I really was sorry when she died."

"And I was sorry about Glimmer. Was all that with your brother the other day to do with her?"

"Yes and no," I reply sadly. "He was broken a long time ago. It's just that Glimmer's death made the cracks a bit bigger."

She nods. "I think we're all broken, Cashmere."

"Why are you still here?" I ask, changing the subject to something other than Gloss.

"I've been home since I saw you last," she says. "I only got back this morning."

I look at her properly and realise I should have worked that out. Her hair is wavy and natural-looking rather than set in the usual poker-straight style she has when the Capitol has made her over and her clothes are far too plain to be from here.

"Why did you want to see me?"

"I'm wounded, Cashmere," she says, her voice a little too loud in a way that instantly tells me all isn't what it seems. "Can't friends see each other without needing a reason?"

"Of course," I reply, mimicking her tone and carefully playing along.

"Talking of friends, our mutual friend was talking about your district,"

Our mutual friend? I don't know who she means, and the confusion must show on my face.

"She once said that he told you the truth." Astraea. But what is my district to her? "She said she heard the good news about your sister."

"Satin?"

"Do you have another?"

"Not now I don't," I reply, my hand instinctively finding the pendant at my throat.

Ursala smiles apologetically before continuing. "Yes, I meant the new mayoress of District One. A very prestigious and powerful position that. One which can be used to do a lot of good."

"That is very true," I reply cautiously, raising my eyebrows questioningly. "But I don't see how what happens in One can concern those who have never left Two."

Ursala shrugs her shoulders. "I was merely remarking on your sister's achievement," she says, her smirk telling me there's really more to it than that.

"Satin is a very intelligent woman," I say. "She's not easy to manipulate."

"That's good," replies Ursala before she instantly changes the subject and starts telling me about Velia's latest antics.

I listen to what she's saying but at the same time I'm thinking about what she said before. There's only one reason why she's talking about Satin and that must be the rebellion. But Satin being involved in a plot to overthrow the government? That's just ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with my sister's life so why would she want change?

I'm trying to think of a way to interrogate Ursala further without what I'm doing being obvious to anyone who might happen to overhear, but I don't get chance as Gloss appears to tell me it's finally time for us to go home. As I say goodbye to my friend I promise myself that I'll speak to Satin, that I'll see what she makes of it all. I don't want her to be involved in plots like that, I want her to be safe and happy back in District One, and I mean to tell her that. Whether she'll listen to me if Ursala's hints are correct, I couldn't begin to guess.

* * *

><p>I almost expect there to be a guard on the door of the carriage at the very rear of the train, a Peacekeeper in a pristine white uniform stationed there to keep the living apart from the dead. However the short, narrow corridor is dark and empty. I have to force myself to walk across it and through the door quickly before the nightmares of my arena can catch up with me.<p>

There is only one tiny wall light on each side of the cabin, and the shadows they cast make it look so like There that it's suddenly even harder to push the memories away than it was when I was outside. But I can't think about that. I'm not here to think about that. I'm here to see them, to see what the Capitol has reduced them to. I have to see them because it's the only way I can begin to let go.

The two simple wooden coffins take up most of the space, running parallel to each other so close that their handles almost touch. Both of them are closed but I can see from here that only one of them is sealed. Glimmer's.

I look away from the casket I know contains my tribute girl but then I make myself look back even though it only makes me think of the end she had. Sapphire's coffin had been left open, so we could all see my sister lying peacefully inside as if she'd simply fallen asleep. I remember putting diamonds in her hair and an old photograph in her hand.

But Glimmer is different. Not even the Capitol could make her beautiful again after what it did to her, and that's why the lid is firmly closed. So they don't have to risk confronting the reality of what they've done.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," I whisper into the silent near-darkness as I rest my hand on the smooth wood. "I wanted to. You might not have known it but I wanted to more than anything."

The train rocks slightly as we continue on, every second taking us closer to home and further from the Capitol, in a physical sense anyway. In any other sense, the Capitol is never far away.

"But perhaps it's better this way," I continue, not really knowing why I'm talking when I'm never going to get a response. I probably shouldn't be talking aloud anyway. As Falco would tell me if he were here, someone could be listening, recording every word. But I can't help it. I can't stop. "You were beautiful, Glimmer, so very beautiful. You were so beautiful that if you'd won the Games you'd have spent every second of every day that followed wishing you were as ugly on the outside as they are on the inside."

I sink to the floor then, resting my back against the wall despite how the way it rattles and shakes is so jarring. I should leave now because Gloss will be looking for me, but I haven't been anywhere quiet since before the Games. I didn't realise how much I missed the quiet until now, and the Capitol is so loud.

"What are your parents like, Glimmer? What am I going to say to them? What do you say to someone who has been forced to watch their child's horrific murder live on television?"

"From what she told me, I don't think they're going to really care," replies Gloss as he pushes the door open wide enough for him to step in to stand by my side. "What are you doing in here, Cashy? This is no place for you."

"It's quiet in here, Gloss," I tell him as he slides down the wall until he's sitting on the floor beside me. "There's nobody watching me in here."

He smiles sadly. "Maybe we should stay in here forever."

"The journey home won't last forever," I reply, tilting my head to lean against his shoulder. "We have to take Glimmer and Marvel back to their families."

"Her family didn't deserve her."

"You don't know that," I say softly. "You can't know that."

"I know it because she told me. That's why she was on that stage on reaping day. Falco isn't to blame for her becoming a tribute even if he did raise her arm when he shouldn't have. He saw her first because she reminded him of you, but it was Glimmer's father who put her there to be chosen."

"Did Falco tell you that? About why he chose Glimmer?" I ask, not thinking he'd told anyone but me.

"Come on, Cash," he replies, pulling away just enough to give him space to lift his arm up and around me. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out."

"What are we going to say to them?"

I didn't think about that until the Games were almost over, but once I did I've found it very difficult to think of anything else a lot of the time. The one and only tribute I mentored before Glimmer and Marvel was Gloss. And my brother won. I was never in the position of possibly having to justify myself to family and friends, to have to try and explain why I didn't bring their son or daughter back home.

"We don't have to say anything," he replies. "There is nothing we can say to make the situation any different or any better, so we shouldn't say anything."

When he says that he sounds so like the Gloss I remember from years and years ago, but when he gets to his feet and stares down at Glimmer's coffin his eyes seem to glaze over and I know I'm losing him again.

"Come on, Gloss," I say, taking his hand and pulling until he starts to follow me. "They'll be wondering where we are if we don't go back."

He kisses the tips of his fingers and then presses them against the wood. "I loved her."

"I know," I reply as I continue to pull him away. "I know you did."

* * *

><p>"Gloss, we're here," I say, shaking my brother's arm so he lets me go.<p>

Ever since we left the cabin at the rear of the train we've been curled up together on the same armchair like we used to when we were children despite the attempts of the servants to get us to move and have something to eat. Gloss has barely said a word since we left Glimmer's coffin behind, but he still seems more himself now the train has left the station and we're going home. He's never been able to bear the Capitol, and leaving the place brings him back to me even in these circumstances.

"Are they all waiting for us again?" he asks, and I can tell by his tone of voice that he means the reporters.

I stand up and cross to the window, peering around the curtain. "I can't see much," I reply, "but they don't care about us now anyway. All of the reporters will be heading for District Twelve."

"Do you think Narissa and Falco are right?"

"Perhaps," I say, crossing back over to him so I can place my finger lightly over his lips, silently reminding him not to say any more here.

"What are we going to say to their families?" he asks, changing the subject completely.

"I'll speak to Glimmer's father. It's for the best."

He looks like he wants to protest but I raise my hand to stop him, knowing that he at least partially blames the man for Glimmer's death. In a way I suppose he's right to, for he did pressurise his daughter into volunteering. But that still doesn't mean I want to read headlines about how a mentor attacked the father of a dead tribute girl.

"You can never tell anyone," I continue. "You know that, don't you, Gloss?"

"Can't tell anyone what?"

I frown sternly at him. "You know what. There's only room for one pair of star-crossed lovers in Panem at the moment and even that's too much if you ask me."

"I can't pretend not to grieve for her, Cash," he replies. "I could never do that."

"I'm not asking you to. Just promise me you won't tell the whole world you spent most of the nights leading up to the Games in her bed and not your own."

He scowls at me. "It wasn't like that," he snaps.

"I know," I reply. "But now you're a little bit mad at me and it shows on your face. Hide your emotions, little brother. We're home."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Almost as soon as I tell Gloss we're home, we're no longer alone and instead are surrounded by Capitol attendants. One of them throws the doors of the train carriage open, performing what has become Falco's usual role in his absence after he had to remain behind on government business.

Given what happened at the end of the Games, I wasn't at all surprised, but I'm disappointed all the same. I wanted him here with me, not in the Capitol trying to decide how best to handle the supposed rebellion of some child from the coal district. But then I always want him with me, and that hasn't changed since I went into my own arena. I should be used to his absence but it seems to get harder rather than easier as time passes.

In most of the districts, the mentors of the losing tributes accompany the simple wooden coffins home in hovercrafts, but as District One is so close to the big city we have always kept to the train. I can't say I'm disappointed. I hate hovercrafts. They remind me of going into the arena because that's the first and only time I've ever had the misfortune of travelling in one.

As I climb down onto the station platform I turn to see the white uniformed Avoxes lowering Glimmer and Marvel down. Three young men who bear more than a passing resemblance to the boy Katniss killed in the arena and another who is much older rush forward to lift the coffin on the left up onto their shoulders, but nobody does the same for the one on the right. It seems I've finally found an area in which Marvel was more fortunate than Glimmer: Family.

I know I should move, but instead I watch as two women step forwards in the direction of the second coffin. One is middle-aged and what I would call average looking, for my district at least, and the other is much younger, only a few years older than Glimmer. When she turns briefly in my direction I instantly notice her vivid green eyes and then I realise who they are.

On closer inspection there is enough resemblance between the younger woman and Glimmer for me to tell they are sisters. However it's also immediately apparent that only one sister inherited all of the genes for beauty and it wasn't the one standing opposite me on the platform. This girl isn't unattractive but she isn't beautiful. She isn't like her sister was.

Gloss looks at me and I look at him, but he doesn't seem to know what to do any more than I do. This is where I have to say something, I know that, but the words won't come. What can I possibly say?

"They can't leave her there," says Gloss from his position by my side when the two women start to move backwards, making no move to have Glimmer taken away. They seem to be paying more attention to the small crowd gathered on the platform than they do to their daughter, and while I'd always thought Glimmer exaggerated about the indifference of her relations, now I've seen them in the flesh, I'm nowhere near as sure.

I reach for Gloss's arm but he ignores me and starts to walk towards them, giving me no choice but to follow. Glimmer's mother and sister stop to look at us when we get closer, and the first thing I notice is that both of them have dry eyes. The sister looks curiously at Gloss but the older woman's gaze is directed firmly at me.

"I'm sorry we couldn't save her," I say, trying not to look at the firmly closed lid of Glimmer's coffin, which still only serves to remind me of the end she had.

"There was nothing you could have done," says her mother, smiling sadly back at me. I don't know whether to be relieved to finally see some emotion or disgusted that she lost her daughter and still can't bring herself to show her grief in public.

"She should have moved faster," says the sister, and I instinctively tighten my grip on Gloss's wrist, knowing her words will only inflame him further.

"Would you have moved faster?" he snaps, making me immediately step between them.

"I had more important things to think about than being a tribute," she replies, glancing contemptuously at the coffin before turning away.

"Like supporting the amazingly successful Goldsmith dynasty?" retorts Gloss sarcastically, his anger making him revert to the ingrained District One tradition of insulting the family name first and the actual person second.

The young woman spins back around, her straight hair flying around as it blows in the wind. It's considerably darker than her sister's was and doesn't catch the light in the same way. However before she can say anything her mother interrupts, looking nervously at the crowd of onlookers, who are clearly speculating about the reason why we're still here.

"Shimmer, please," she says anxiously. "We need to go."

I have to fight back the urge to ask the woman what in Panem possessed her to give her daughters rhyming names, but when I glance at Gloss, expecting to see my own amusement reflected in his eyes, I suddenly remember that he probably already knew. For the first time I consider speaking to him about Glimmer and what happened to her, but then I immediately think better of it. Not here. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

"I can't exactly carry her, can I?" retorts Shimmer, sounding like a spoiled child rather than a grown woman.

"I'll carry her," says Gloss, stepping forwards before I can stop him and sending the few reporters who chose to be here rather than in the coal district into a flurry of excitement.

I move forwards myself, doing the only thing I can think of to try and stop them from taking Gloss's reaction as confirmation that he and Glimmer were a lot more than he's always maintained they were. It isn't usual for a tribute's mentors to carry their coffin from the station but I don't know what else to do. There's nothing else I can do, although how we're going to manage alone, I have no idea.

"I will help," says another familiar voice as someone moves to stand behind me. I've never been more pleased to see Miracle Lancaster in all my life.

"I think this is above and beyond the call of duty," says Satin, whispering into my ear as she also appears by my side.

"Lady Mayoress," I reply, inclining my head enough to be gently mocking before turning my attention back to Glimmer and becoming deadly serious once again.

Nobody speaks after that, and we force ourselves to ignore the considerable number of people who follow us or stop what they're doing to stare. Glimmer Goldsmith was a girl from a family of little to no consequence, and yet she is now the first tribute in the history of the Hunger Games to have her coffin carried to the cemetery by the mayoress, her husband and two Victors rather than by her own relatives. No wonder those we pass are all staring.

Once we reach our final destination, which turns out to be the poorer side of the cemetery rather than the side where my own family's vault lies, there are people waiting to take Glimmer from us and lower her into her final resting place. We wait while the official presides over what can surely only laughingly be referred to as a funeral, standing on the opposite side of the grave to Glimmer's mother, sister and the small number of other people who have accompanied them. I remain glued to Gloss's side and I notice that Satin does the same. Despite how she can't possibly know what happened in the Capitol, it seems I'm not the only one who senses how volatile the situation is.

The first sign I get that something has changed is when Gloss tenses beside me. I look up to see a tall, imposing-looking blond man striding towards us, and watch as he stops a short distance away to stare down at the simple gravestone that marks the place where we've just buried his daughter. For surely this must be Glimmer's father. The resemblance between them is remarkable and it's suddenly very obvious where her looks came from.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I venture, deciding to test whether or not what Gloss has told me of the man is true.

"Life goes on," he replies eventually, his tone more indifferent than cold. "As I'm sure you and your family know better than most."

He looks down at Glimmer's grave one more time before walking to the other side to stand beside his family. He whispers something I can't hear to Shimmer and she smiles slightly, her sister outwardly forgotten already. It's only when I instinctively look away in what feels something like disgust that I see Miracle is now standing in Satin's place and that he's all that's restraining Gloss's uncontrollable grief and rage.

"Come on, Gloss," I say, deliberately positioning myself so I block his view of Glimmer's seemingly unconcerned family. "It's well past time we left."

He doesn't say anything but his eyes meet mine and I sigh with relief. I'm not too late this time. It isn't going to be a repeat of what happened in the Control Room even if his expression mirrored the one I saw that day. At least it seems to still be true that it's easier for him to hold onto himself when he's back home.

"I think it's well past time we all left," replies Satin, sparing a contemptuous glance for Glimmer's father before taking the hand Miracle offers her and heading home, leaving Gloss and I to follow behind.

"We can go home now," I tell Gloss, linking my arm with his. "There's nothing to stop you from coming back when they've gone."

He smiles and lets me lead him away, appearing calmer than I could ever have hoped for. I can't wait to get home and I have to stop myself from running once we leave the cemetery behind.

* * *

><p>When we got home everything was exactly as we'd left it, right down to the clothes I'd left scattered across the table when I was trying to decide what to wear. We sat and talked for hours but Gloss didn't talk about Glimmer or her family so I didn't dare mention anything. Instead I talked about Satin and how different she somehow seems, and I'm not surprised when he agrees with me. She's still Satin but she's more intense than she was, and she has a small frown on her face when she thinks nobody's looking, almost like she's thinking of something nobody else understands.<p>

A short time later the television came on automatically to show yet another replay of Katniss and Peeta's interview, which made Gloss growl and leave the room immediately. I followed him to the kitchen but he wasn't the same after he'd seen the pair from Twelve, he wasn't as relaxed. Soon after that we both decided to go to bed.

Before we left the Capitol I imagined it would be Gloss struggling to combat his nightmares, but as it turns out, I'm the one who can't stay asleep. To start with I'm back in the arena again, but instead of it being Dahlia I'm fighting, it's Katniss Everdeen instead. We fight and fight for hours with what seems like thousands of people watching us, but when I finally succeed in defeating her, the crowd turns on me and then I'm racing along countless narrow corridors while they all chase after me.

Then suddenly I reach a point where I can go no further and I find President Snow waiting for me. Behind him stands Gloss and when I turn around I see Glimmer beside me. 'Choose', says Snow to Gloss, looking from me to Glimmer with his vile snake's eyes, and when my brother screams out that he can't, I wake to find myself sitting up in bed with the covers twisted so tightly around me that I can't move.

Eventually I acknowledge that I'm too scared of my nightmares to try and go back to sleep, and so I disentangle myself and walk down the corridor towards the kitchen. However when I get half way there I realise I'm outside Gloss's room and stop outside the door, feeling strangely reminded of how I used to often do the same thing when I was a little girl.

I silently push the door open just enough for me to peer inside, and I quickly realise that the only reason Gloss's nightmares weren't troubling him was because he wasn't asleep. I don't think I made a sound but he senses I'm there anyway, and when he pulls the blanket back I walk over to the bed and crawl in beside him.

He says nothing, and I don't know how much time passes with us simply lying side by side and staring up at the ceiling. The moon is bright tonight and it lights up the room enough for me to follow the patterns in the carved beams. It gives me something to concentrate on besides the memories of my nightmares but it also distracts me so I jump when Gloss finally speaks.

"They didn't care about her at all, did they?"

"Maybe they did in their own way," I reply. I'd been expecting this, although I had thought it would take a little longer for him to open up.

"They didn't, Cash," he whispers. "You saw what they were like. They'd have left her alone on the station platform."

"But she had you," I whisper back, turning to face him even though he continues to look resolutely upwards. "So she wasn't alone. And wherever she is now, she doesn't need her family anyway."

He shrugs his shoulders slightly but then turns around so he can put his arms around me.

"It was never supposed to be like this," he breathes, his voice barely audible. "When we were growing up, we never imagined this."

I don't know what to say so I hug him tighter instead, hoping that will be enough. What can I say when his words are the truth? The life we dreamed of before Sapphire left couldn't have been more different to the reality we have now, but that doesn't mean we can change what happened. When I think of Falco part of me doesn't want to change what happened, and thinking of him makes me think of rebellion, which is something I can dream of in a totally different way.

Maybe Katniss Everdeen has started something and maybe she hasn't. But it doesn't matter really because we don't need a girl like that when we have a plan that's been in the making for decades. All that matters is that we do something, and that is a feeling I can't change when I see Gloss like this. Panem has to change before he breaks, and I'll do anything in my power to keep him together.

* * *

><p>The next morning I wake up and Gloss isn't there. It's not until I go downstairs to the kitchen that I find his note saying he's gone for a walk, and by the time I do, I'm far too tense and worried to go back to sleep. I try to think of somewhere I can go where I won't have the eyes and ears of the Capitol on me, at least not in any obvious way, and I end up heading for the workshop. I want to see Satin anyway, and most of the regular Capitolians are so intimidated by my sister that there are few better places to hide in District One than her domain.<p>

Before long I'm walking down the familiar corridor, down towards the office that my sister has made her own. I still half expect to see my father calling me inside, polite and even friendly when others can see him despite how we both knew better. I can't remember an occasion where he was friendly towards me behind closed doors where we no longer had an audience. However my father isn't there, as he hasn't been for many years. This is Satin's place now.

All I can hear is the low murmur of people talking as they work in the massive factory that's on the other side of the wall and the noise my heels make as they hit the stone floor. It's somehow warmer here than it was when Father was alive. Being here doesn't fill me with as much dread as it always used to and I almost find myself relaxing, at least compared to the never ceasing tension I feel in the Capitol anyway.

Then I spin around in response to the sudden weight on my back, yanking the dagger from the strap that keeps it in place on my arm and holding it to the throat of my attacker at the same time as slamming them back against the wall. All I can see is the arena, and it's not until the tiny, frightened voice penetrates through the haze of my memories that I realise what I've done.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, dropping the dagger to the ground with an echoing clatter. "I'm so, so sorry."

I lower a very shaky-looking Victory back to the floor and the little girl stumbles into me, wrapping her arms around my legs to keep herself upright. She stares up at me with wide eyes that look as terrified as her voice sounded and all I can do is stare back, trembling as much as she is at the thought of what could have happened.

Eventually I move to step away, half expecting her to run for Satin, but instead she clings to me, pulling herself up until I give in and lift her off the floor. She's heavier than I thought she'd be. Gloss always makes lifting her look so totally effortless but I can't say the same.

I soon find myself wishing I'd left her on the ground for a different reason though, because when her face is next to mine it's suddenly a lot harder to avoid looking into her eyes. She looks so like her mother that it's scary, but her eyes are her father's, and I notice it more than ever now.

"Victory, I…"

"Why did you do that, Aunt Cashmere?" she says tremulously. "I jump out at Daddy like that all the time but he laughs."

"Because…" I begin awkwardly, wishing Gloss was here because he's so much better at saying things to her in a way she'll understand. "Because… Do you remember what your mother told you about how I went to the Capitol to play a game?"

"It was before I was born," she replies, virtually all hints of the tears she never quite shed disappearing as her expression abruptly becomes one of serious concentration. She looks more and more like Satin with every day that passes by. "Uncle Gloss went too. And Aunt Sapphire," she adds, stumbling over the name slightly. "But she didn't come home."

It takes me a minute to collect my thoughts again when she says that. From the very day of her daughter's birth, Satin has been determined to keep her from the horrors of the Games until she's old enough to understand. She's closed doors, covered televisions and shielded Victory's eyes and ears for as long as I remember, and this reaping was the first the little girl has ever attended. Satin didn't let her out of sight for a single second.

All this considered, I certainly don't want to be the one to have to explain the truth. Not that I think she'd truly understand anyway. I was at least six or seven before I could comprehend what happened to the two people who left the district to go to the Capitol every year and I was a lot less sheltered than Victory has been. However what shocks me more than anything is that Satin would tell her about Sapphire. I hadn't expected that, but it seems my sister has surprised me again. She's been doing that a lot over the past few years.

"It was a long time ago but the game was really scary. I still remember it and it makes me frightened."

"Did people jump out at you when you played the game?" she asks, looking innocently up at me with Miracle's eyes.

"Sort of," I reply, not knowing what else to say to this little girl whose biggest fears are still the imaginary monsters hiding under her bed.

"Daddy says 'Don't jump out at Aunt Cashmere', but…"

"You did it anyway?" I say, smiling slightly when she laughs. "You're just like your mother."

"That's what she says when she's happy with me. When I'm being bad, she says I'm just like Daddy."

"Where's your mother, Victory?" I ask, starting to walk down the corridor again with her still in my arms.

"Her office. Shouting at Daddy."

I walk a bit quicker and when I turn the final corner in the corridor I hear the sound of raised voices. Or should I say 'voice', because it's mostly Satin doing the shouting.

Rather than eavesdrop on what they're saying, I put Victory down and tell her to wait next door, watching her climb into the armchair by the window before walking away and knocking on the door to my sister's office.

"Come in!" calls a very fraught-sounding Satin.

"It's only me," I say, peering tentatively inside. Predictably, I feel something push against my legs and a second later Victory is standing in front of me, looking from one person to the other with that expression of curiosity she sometimes has which Gloss says reminds him of me. "Should I come back later?"

"No, Cashmere, it's fine. We're just having a difference of opinion over how wise it was for me to have done what I did yesterday."

"I'm telling her that it's not sensible for the mayoress to be a pallbearer for a dead Hunger Games tribute, especially not this year," replies Miracle, talking to me but really continuing the argument I'd interrupted.

So it seems the rumours about Katniss and Peeta's 'rebellion' have reached here as well, or at least reached them. It isn't surprising really, not when Satin reads the Capitol newspapers and receives all the Capitolian visitors to the district. She's never been stupid so I'm sure it didn't take her long to work it out. She probably worked it out quicker than I did.

"I don't think anyone's really thinking about what we're doing," I say cautiously.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," answers Miracle, looking concernedly at Satin.

"You worry too much," she replies, smiling slightly.

"Only because you seem to make it your life's mission to give me a reason to," he replies, reaching down to scoop Victory up into his arms. "We'll leave you two to it. But think about what I said."

My sister nods and continues to stare after them long after they've disappeared down the corridor and the door has swung closed.

"What did he say?" I ask, making her jerk her head around to face me like she'd only just remembered I was there.

"Never you mind," she replies, sitting back down behind her desk. "Where's Gloss?"

"He went for a walk. I'm not sure where."

"How is he?" she asks, and then she briefly looks away when I raise my eyebrows at her. "Fine. That was a stupid question. But I don't know what to say anymore."

"How about starting by telling me how you became the mayor?"

"The old one died."

"Don't be flippant, Satin. You're the head of one of the richest and most powerful families in the district so you're an obvious choice, but you've always said you'd never do it. What made you change your mind?"

"It's the mayor's responsibility to act in the best interests of the district and to do what's right for it's people. It got to the point where I thought I was the only one who could see beyond their own self-interest enough to remember that."

I gaze steadily across at her for several minutes and not once does she look away. She's got that stubborn expression I remember so clearly from our childhood, that expression which used to tell me she'd made her mind up and there was nothing in all of Panem that would make her change it. There's more to this than I first thought, I know there is. But I don't know what.

"And what is in the best interests of the district?"

"I think you know the answer to that, sister dearest," she replies, looking pointedly around the room in a way that tells me I might not be the only person hearing her words. It's a look I'm more used to seeing in the Capitol and certainly not one I'd expect to see from my sister. "Every district needs stability."

"Of course," I say, narrowing my eyes slightly as I realise I'm still none the wiser. "And you think you're the one to provide that stability?"

"There's nobody better," she tells me with a smirk.

"Then you should probably come back home with me because Drusilla gave me another suit for you."

"What colour is it?" she asks immediately, her expression suddenly deadly serious.

"I didn't look," I reply laughingly. "Since when did you become so fashion-conscious?"

"I'm the mayoress now, Cashmere," she says lightly. "I have to think about how my public views me."

There's something about the way she says that which makes me think there's a lot more to it than that, but I don't press her further. I know her well enough to know there's no point. She'll tell me if and when she's ready and not before.

"I'm sure the people of the district fear you a little more than they should and almost as much as you want them to," I reply. "Even the Capitolian reporters won't follow me in here."

"So you're hiding? That's why you're here to see me?"

"No," I protest. "Well partly. I'm mostly just here so you can tell me everything you know about what's happened while I've been…away."

"Everything?" she says, smiling evenly across the desk at me. "I can't tell you everything when I think there are things I know that you most certainly shouldn't."

There she is again, hinting at things that almost makes me think she knows about the rebellion plot. If she did it would be the new one not Achillea's, because I know I'd have known if she knew about that. But she can't. It's impossible. Not Satin. She can't. But then she probably thinks the same about me.

"I find that very hard to believe," I reply, sounding like I'm teasing her when really I'm speaking the truth.

She laughs and after that we silently agree not to talk about such things any more. She tells me about how she became the mayoress and I tell her about what happened in the Capitol, going into more detail than I ever thought I would with her. If someone had told me ten years ago that we'd be talking like this then I wouldn't have believed them, but we are and I'm grateful for it. I might never have Sapphire back, but I have a sister I can talk to and that's something I never thought to have again.

* * *

><p>There are fresh flowers on her grave again. There always are. I've walked this way virtually every day of the four months that have passed since the end of the Seventy-fourth Games and never once have I seen a wilted bloom. Never once have I seen my brother here either, but I know he's the one who places them there, I know he's the one who still grieves. Her family left only one bouquet, a fine one of yellow roses created to make a statement rather than to symbolise the love they still feel for the daughter they lost, and they haven't been back since. There are no roses there now. Gloss hates roses even more than I do.<p>

Glimmer's name carved into a plain gravestone is all that's there to mark her resting place, and I crouch down to brush my fingers lightly across it.

"You're better off wherever you are, Glimmer," I whisper. "Or at least I hope you are."

"Aunt Cashmere! Aunt Cashmere!"

I jump to my feet instantly in response to the familiar voice and turn around in time to see Victory racing towards me as fast as her legs will carry her. I look behind her for Satin or Miracle but unusually she seems to be alone.

"What is it?" I ask when she skids to a halt too late and crashes into my knees. "Where's your mother?"

"She sent me to get you. She says the man from the Capitol wants to see you."

"Man from the Capitol?" I say, trying to ignore how my stomach churns at the same time as my mind fills with dread. "What do you mean?"

"They came on the train when I was asleep. Come on!" she replies, grasping my hand and attempting to drag me back the way she came.

"They?" I ask, really starting to panic when she says that.

What could people from the Capitol want now? There are nearly two months to go before Everdeen and Mellark start their Victory Tour. And Satin seems to be devoting her life to ensuring everything in the district is running so smoothly that they have no cause to visit more than is absolutely necessary.

"There are three of them. Two men and a woman."

"What did they say? It's really important that you remember, Victory," I tell her, stopping when Satin's house comes into view and kneeling on the path so I'm at eye level with my niece.

She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't know. Daddy sent me to my room."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Since when have you done what Daddy tells you? What did they say?"

She takes a deep breath, shuffling on the spot and looking down at her shoes. "Daddy shut the door so I couldn't hear. But one of them was way older than Mother. His skin was black." I breathe a sigh of relief. Not the president then. "The woman was scary. And her face didn't move when she talked."

I can't help laughing at that, thinking of the way a lot of the Capitol women have treatments to stop them getting wrinkles and guessing that's what Victory means. She's observant, my sister's little daughter, even at this young age, even when she's scared. That's good, I think. Then I realise I'm imagining her in an arena and I force the thought away. She might be related to two Victors but that doesn't mean I have to think about what might happen a decade into the future just yet.

"And the other man?" I prompt, making myself refocus on the present.

"He was talking to Mother. That's when she sent me to find you."

"Did you recognise him?" I ask, still struggling to fight my feeling of dread.

She nods. "Yes. He was on the stage before you and Uncle Gloss went away."

I smile when she says that, knowing she has to mean the reaping, and then suddenly it's me dragging her along behind me rather than the other way around. In the end I pick her up and carry her because she can't run fast enough, and she's still in my arms when I burst into my childhood home, only just remembering to stop and compose myself before knocking on the door of what Satin calls the guest reception room.

"Good morning, Cashmere," calls Satin when she sees me, her tone of voice an instant warning. Then she winks at me, a gesture so quick I almost think I imagined it. "As you can see, we have guests from the Capitol. I thought you could help me keep them entertained. I believe you've all met before. Go upstairs, Victory," she adds, speaking in a way that doesn't allow her daughter room to argue back or disobey.

I look around the room, trying not to smile when I see Vespasian, but then all thoughts of smiling disappear from my mind instantly when I see the tall, thin woman by his side. Prisca nods, narrowing her artificially violet eyes sharply in a way that makes me have to fight to keep myself from automatically flinching away.

Her official title is 'Advisor to the President', but Falco explained to me how she's much more than that a long time ago and even if he hadn't then I'd know her by her truly fearsome reputation. She was the one in charge of The Vault on the night Achillea died. She was the one who ordered the interrogation of the former leader of the revolution. I nod back, hoping I've succeeded in keeping my expression neutral when all I can do is wonder why Satin sent for me and put me in such a dangerous position, one which is made all the more risky by the third visitor in the room.

I finally allow my eyes to meet Falco's, smiling slightly and trying to stop myself from feeling like a fourteen year old girl looking at her first love as all thoughts of Prisca promptly disappear. I can tell by the pointed way Satin clears her throat that I'm only just managing to conceal the emotions I can't quite suppress.

"Forgive me for asking," I say, speaking in a deliberately over-formal voice for Prisca's benefit as I look away from Falco and mentally tell myself to get a grip, "but why are you visiting now?"

"We're checking everything is in place for the Victory Tour," says Falco, speaking in an icy-cold tone that's never usually directed at me. I instantly translate his words as 'Shut up, Cashmere', and something about the almost imperceptible look he exchanges with Satin confuses me even more.

"Then I will leave you to your work," I retort, rapidly getting fed up of trying to play a game I don't understand the rules of. "I apologise for intruding."

"No. Now you're here you can walk with me to the main square," he replies, the look in his eyes telling anyone who cares to notice that he's thinking of getting me to do a lot more than just walk to the square. "I need to see everything is as it should be."

I bite back my response, now sensing he's only performing for his audience of one, but it feels strange to hear him speak to me like that. I don't like it. Or at least I mostly don't like it. Then he catches my eye and the look he sends me makes me understand what he's doing. I abruptly have to deliberately make myself think of the arena, of my own Victory Tour, of anything to make myself feel as uncomfortable as I should be feeling when I suddenly don't feel uncomfortable at all.

"We're not here for you to have your fun, Hazelwell," interrupts Prisca, making me inwardly sigh with relief when I realise she's falling for it. "We have work to do."

"And I'll do it," he replies lazily. "Tomorrow."

"Shall I tell the president the reason for the delay?"

"If you like," he says, sounding almost insolent. "I'm sure he understands the distractions of District One as well as anyone," he continues, looking me up and down with a deliberate slowness so Prisca couldn't possibly mistake his meaning.

I look at her, silently pleading with her to put a stop to this because I know it's the one thing that's most likely to make her want to do the opposite. As I predicted, she doesn't let me down.

"Go. But make sure you're back here tomorrow," she says to Falco, and by the time he grasps my wrist and drags me towards the door, she's already talking to Satin again.

I look back to see the amusement in Vespasian's eyes and then the door closes behind me. I pull away from Falco's grip just enough for me to be able to take his hand in mine until we leave the house and the cameras are watching once more.

* * *

><p>"You know who she is better than I do. Are you crazy?" I hiss, dragging him to a halt before he can open the front door.<p>

"Maybe," he replies, grinning back at me. "But I've missed you."

I open my mouth to reply, still unsure if I'm going to tell him that I've missed him too or that what either of us want or feel doesn't matter, but before I can speak he opens the door and pulls me outside. There's a small entourage waiting, and I guess from the look of them that they were also on the train that came from the Capitol. However Falco diverts their attention back to Vespasian and Prisca with a few seemingly casual words about the Victory Tour and before I know it we're walking across the main square, talking very loudly about the position of the stage.

"We need to talk," he says, pointing across at the Town Hall to make it look like he's talking about the building in case anyone's watching us.

"Talk?" I reply lightly, surprised by how much better I feel with him by my side. I partly enjoy it but at the same time I partly wonder exactly when I got so pathetically needy.

He laughs as much as he dares to in public. "You know this place a lot better than I do. I'm following you."

"This way," I say, struggling not to run as he follows me up the massive stone steps into the Town Hall. I can sense his confusion even though he forces himself to say nothing. "You'll see."

He manages to remain silent as we walk all the way along the passageway that leads to the side exit and then down another path which takes us out into the park, far away from the crowded main square.

I smile at the sight of the place I spent so much of my childhood escaping to, a place I haven't visited for years because I didn't want to tarnish it with the things I think of now. I remember racing across the grass with Gloss and Sapphire and hiding from all the people Father sent to bring us back. I remember how happy I used to be and how we were never caught until we were finally ready to go back. That's what made me return today. I've never brought anyone here before, but for some reason I can't explain, I want to show Falco part of the life I used to live.

"Butterfly, where are we?"

"Patience," I reply, admonishing him teasingly. "You'll see."

I scan my surroundings at the same time as trying to hide my increasing desperation when I can't get my bearings, until eventually I see the tree I'm looking for. It's the one of the biggest trees in the park and its distinctive shape was what used to guide me to one of my favourite hiding places.

When I get to it, I find it much as I remember, although somehow everything seems a lot smaller than it was the last time I saw it. The gaps in the thick foliage are a lot smaller too, but I get through into the hidden clearing beyond with a very amused-looking Falco following closely behind.

"What is this place?" he asks, looking around and pulling me into his arms at the same time.

"A very good hiding place," I reply, putting my arm around his waist and leading him across to the foot of the big tree I'd been looking for. "Look," I say, pointing to the three letters carved into its trunk.

"C, G and S," he reads, pulling back the long grass and wildflowers so he can see.

"I don't think anyone else ever comes here. They never did then anyway."

"Well it's not up to my usual high and exacting standards," he replies teasingly, deliberately exaggerating his Capitol accent so he sounds like a very masculine Effie Trinket, "but I suppose I can make do."

I pull away from him and hit his arm sharply, pretending to be offended by his equally pretend dismissal of one of my favourite places in the world. Then I dart back across the clearing before he can retaliate. He chases me and I make only a less than half-hearted attempt to run.

"Don't you dare!" I cry as he lifts me up and then falls down to the ground. "Felix spent hours making this dress."

"He can make you another one," he replies dismissively, pushing me back onto the grass.

"But I really don't think-" I start, deliberately trying to torment him by continuing to talk.

"Cashmere de Montfort," he interrupts. "Be quiet."

"But you said you wanted to talk," I tease, trying not to laugh.

"I do. Later."

* * *

><p>From the little patch of blue sky I can see from this angle, I guess that it's just about midday. Falco is leaning back against the tree my siblings and I carved our initials into and I'm leaning back against him, struggling to bring myself back to reality because I know we'll have to leave soon. It's so quiet here that we could be the only people in Panem. If I'm not thinking of my immediate family then sometimes I wish we were.<p>

"I wish I'd been born here and not in the Capitol," he whispers, interrupting our long silence.

"Really?" I ask, not able to imagine him as anyone but who he actually is. "Why?"

"Because then we wouldn't have had to hide."

I think about that for a minute and I suddenly start to like the idea considerably more than I did. "I suppose I wish it too when you put it like that. You'd have found a way to make yourself really rich so my father would have wanted us to marry. We could have lived such a different life."

"But would we have been us? I wouldn't be happy with your father thinking he could give me orders and you'd be bored and think I was holding you prisoner."

"No, I wouldn't," I reply, although when I think about it, I decide the eighteen-year-old girl I'd been before the Games might not agree. "And anyway, stop ruining my fantasy."

"You weren't saying that a few hours ago."

"I wasn't saying anything a few hours ago," I reply, speaking before I really think about what I'm saying and then smacking him when I sense rather than see him smirking smugly at me.

He laughs, momentarily stopping stroking my hair back until I settle down again, shaking my head sharply as a way of silently telling him to carry on. He gives me a greatly over exaggerated sigh, calls me demanding and then pulls me closer and continues, twisting my blonde curls around and around his fingers.

"Are you really here because of the Tour?" I ask eventually, finally bringing myself to ask him the question I've wanted to ask ever since I saw the horrifically terrifying sight that was Prisca in Satin's house.

"Yes," he replies. "And no."

"That's not an answer."

"Do you remember what I said about how people might see Katniss's trick with the berries as more than just the desperate actions of a love-struck girl?"

"I've thought of little else for months."

"Well more people saw it as rebellion than anyone could have imagined. There's unrest in some of the districts and if something isn't done then it could…turn into something more than just unrest."

"Rebellion?" I breathe, hardly daring to say the word. "In the districts?"

"It's possible. That's why the Tour is so important this year. If Katniss and Peeta don't play their roles then there could be trouble. And you mustn't tell anyone this, not even Gloss, but everything coming out of Twelve says the star-crossed lovers act died when the official cameras stopped filming."

"But… So… What does that mean? People are only just realising the act was a lie? People are taking what Katniss did as deliberate rebellion because she doesn't really love Peeta?"

He nods. "Some of them. Those who matter. Seneca Crane's dead."

"Dead?"

"Dead," he repeats flatly. "Executed for something else, but everyone with half a brain knows it was really because he let those children live."

"So who took his place? Another of the president's puppets?"

His arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head. I know he's delaying because there's something he can't bring himself to tell me.

"Falco?"

"Plutarch Heavensbee."

It takes me a minute to recover, but when I manage to I pull away just enough to look up at him.

"Heavensbee? How? Why? Does that mean what I think it means?"

"She always wanted it that way," he replies eventually, and I somehow know he means Achillea.

Heavensbee was involved with the first rebellion plot, and when I think about it, it makes sense that having him work his way to becoming Head Gamemaker was part of Achillea's original plan. But Achillea is dead, and the potential rebels aren't the single unit they once were. I can't even begin to comprehend what's going on now, and the worst thing is that I don't think Falco can completely either. There are factions involved who weren't before, and that's making everything even more complicated.

"Does that mean it will be soon? When? What will happen first?"

"At the moment nothing will happen," he replies, speaking slowly as if he's choosing his words very carefully. "I don't know all that's going on, but from what I can gather, a lot of it depends on a certain girl from District Twelve."

"Everdeen? What's it got to do with her?"

"Everything. According to Heavensbee anyway. He wants to use her defiance to begin the rebellion."

"Using the districts?"

"Yes, to start with. He knows not everyone involved in the plot agrees with what he's doing but he thinks that if people see the districts fighting back then they'll all fall in behind him and reunite."

"And will they?" I ask, remembering the arguments I've witnessed between Phoebe and Narissa.

"Maybe. I can't say. I'm not sure if it will even get that far. The president knows too much. He's already planning to go to District Twelve to speak to Katniss and make sure she does as she's told."

"So it all depends on the Victory Tour?"

"I suppose it does. But at the same time I can't see how Katniss and Peeta can reverse what they've started. If people want revolution then they'll fight, no matter what happens on the Tour."

"Maybe they should fight. Maybe it's time."

He laughs. "Quite the little rebel, aren't you? But it isn't that simple. That girl can't change the world. She can't take away the president's power and put it in the hands of the districts with a few nightlock berries."

"It's like you said though," I reply determinedly. "The girl doesn't matter now. It isn't her who's going to lead the rebels."

"But who is?" he asks. "If you can answer that question then you know more than me, and that's the problem. That's why it shouldn't be now."

"It will never be the right time, Falco. I don't like Katniss Everdeen and I don't believe in her, but I believe in the cause and I'm sure I'm not the only one. If enough people feel the same then it's got to be worth a try."

He pulls me closer, holding me so tight that I can barely breathe, but he seems to relax slightly and I smile because that's what I wanted. When I really think about it I can't see how we can ever succeed, but if people like him believe we can then there might be a chance. That's what I tell myself when I lie to him anyway, because there's nothing I hate more than lying to him. Nothing but Coriolanus Snow anyway. I'd give virtually anything to see him fall. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the thought that one day I might.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Will you forgive me the (relatively) angst-free fluff if I say it's the last time I'll ever have the opportunity to write it...? <em>**

**_As ever, thank you to those of you who have been with me and reviewing from the very start - you keep me writing :) If you're still reading then spare a second to let me know - like most authors on here, I love reading your comments. Thank you :) *says Caisha as she goes off to reread Catching Fire so she can write the next chapter*_**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"Cashmere! Gloss! Get up!"

I groan at the sound of Satin's voice as I turn around and pull the blanket over my head in response. I don't want to get up. I don't want to face the morning. Especially not _this _morning.

"You know what day it is," she calls, knowing better than to get any closer until she knows we're both properly awake. That's a lesson she learnt a long time ago and she's nowhere near stupid enough to forget it.

"I do know what day it is, Satin," I reply sleepily. "And that's why I want to stay exactly where I am."

"Satin, what are you doing here anyway?" asks Gloss as I feel rather than see him sit up. He pulls the blanket off my head and I growl at him. "At least get her some coffee, for Panem's sake," he continues, and I follow the direction of his gaze to see our sister still standing in the doorway. "You know what she's like first thing in the morning."

"She can get it herself," she replies, smoothing imaginary creases from her Capitol-made suit. "The Girl Who Should Be Set Alight will be here in an hour and we've got to be there to meet her."

I laugh in response to the less than flattering nickname which has become very familiar to me over the past six months as she spins around on her heel and vanishes back down the corridor. Then I turn to look at Gloss and I immediately see he's less than amused.

"We should give her the reception she deserves," he snarls, twisting my blanket viciously in his hands.

"You know we can't," I reply, extricating the soft blue wool from his fingers before he destroys it completely. "We've talked about this."

He nods almost sadly and then swings his legs over the edge of the massive bed before heading off in the direction of his own room. Neither of us like it, but as Satin said, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark's Victory Tour is coming to District One this morning and there's nothing we can do about it.

* * *

><p>Watching every stage of the Victory Tour has always been compulsory for everyone, and in the last ten days I've seen the star-crossed lovers make their way across Panem just like I did eight years ago. They got a cold, indifferent reception in some districts, especially District Two. Everdeen was presented with a commemorative plaque by an old woman wearing one of their district tokens who looked like she'd want nothing better than the chance to rip the girl's throat out. I wish I knew who she was.<p>

However in others they were welcomed a lot more cordially. I'll always remember District Four, where they lined the streets, chanting Katniss's name like a war cry. When combined with Miracle's complaints that his man in the Capitol is no longer able to keep him supplied with seafood like he used to, I remember Falco's words about potential unrest in the districts and start to think everything isn't as calm as the government would have us believe.

But I can't think about that right now. All I can think of today is how I hope the coal miner's daughter from District Twelve wants the impending ceremony over as quickly as I do. I don't think I could bear it if a repeat of District Eleven happened here.

For while I think I will always remember the hatred in the eyes of the old woman from Two and the haunting battle cry of the crowds in Four, what I remember most clearly of the events of this year's Tour is what happened in the agricultural district.

I remember watching Katniss and Peeta playing out their neatly rehearsed performance, expecting Katniss to find a few of her own words for her little dead ally at the end. But as Gloss predicted, it was Peeta who did the talking while Katniss stood there looking on blankly. The symbol of the revolution? I have my doubts as to whether the girl could inspire an alcoholic to drink. Even the speech she eventually managed seemed to be made more out of duty than desire, and I wasn't disappointed when the television screen suddenly and unexpectedly blacked out.

"Cashmere de Montfort! Get down here right now or I'll come up and drag you!"

Satin's voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife, and despite the situation I can't help but smile. Satin knows how much Gloss and I are hurting, she knows how broken we are despite how we pretend otherwise, but she insists on carrying on as normal because it's the only way she can deal with everything that's happened. I sigh deeply, deciding I'm not going to stand in her way, especially when she's got to deal with the trauma of having to lead the ceremony.

"I'd like to see you try, sister dearest," I sing back as I run down the stairs, dodging neatly past her on my way to the kitchen.

I almost hear her roll her eyes as for some reason she stomps off upstairs, but instead of following, I continue on in the opposite direction. I accept the mug Gloss holds out for me and then watch as he lifts Victory up and sits her on the kitchen table.

"She's not allowed to sit on tables," I say mildly when I hear Satin returning as I try to decide which one of them will get the bigger telling off.

"It's my table," he replies. "She can sit there if she wants."

"Well technically it's my table," I say, smiling back at him. "Your house and your table are next door."

He says nothing and springs towards me. I dart across the room, keeping the table between us as Victory's high pitched child's laughter fills the room.

"Children, please," intones Satin as she strides towards me, waving what looks like a dress in my direction. "You can't shame your family by going to the ceremony in your nightdress."

Once upon a time I'd have been furious at her for talking to me like that, but now I shrug my shoulders, taking the dress and unfolding it.

"I won't," I reply, looking at the relatively plain black and white dress. "But this isn't right either."

I leave a confused-looking Satin and Gloss behind, but a few minutes later I return, standing expectantly in the doorway as I wait for their opinion.

"You can't," says Satin, slowly taking in my emerald green jacket and skirt.

"Why not?" I reply. "It's just a suit."

She shakes her head slightly but says nothing more, especially when Gloss crosses the room to stand beside me, unclipping my hair so it cascades down around my shoulders before pulling me close.

"It's time," he says.

* * *

><p>About half an hour later, Gloss, Satin and I are standing on the stage in the main square in front of a significant proportion of District One's population and numerous visiting Capitolians, all of them here to see the pair from Twelve. Who are late. They haven't even got the decency to arrive on time and run to the intricately prepared schedule that's been imposed on all of us.<p>

"I didn't know he had such a big family," whispers Gloss, nodding slightly in the direction of the group gathered at the base of the left side of the stage.

There must be at least twenty of them, with a middle-aged couple in the middle surrounded by all the rest. I can tell immediately that they're related from the similarity in their appearance, and I know from where they stand that they're also related to the boy Katniss Everdeen shot on the ninth day of the Games. There's no need for all of them to be there in the place usually occupied only by parents and siblings, but there's no rule that says they can't be there either.

I chose to wear an emerald green suit because it's my way of remembering Glimmer, and Marvel's family chose to ensure Everdeen and Mellark will have to confront as many of them as they could gather. We all have our subtle means of displaying our defiance.

"Are you still with me, Gloss?" I ask, fearing what will happen when he finally comes face to face with Panem's newest Victors.

He takes my hand and momentarily squeezes it tightly but he doesn't get chance to reply. The Capitolian officials standing on the stage with us begin to clap as Katniss and Peeta appear at the top of the Justice Building stairs, and soon the audience joins in. Satin elbows me sharply and it's only when she does the same to Gloss and then glares fiercely back at us that I realise why. Neither of us are clapping. The eyes of the Capitol are on us and neither of us are clapping.

They walk slowly down the steps and Katniss's yellow dress sparkles as the bright winter sun catches the diamonds her stylist has decorated it with. I keep clapping but I quickly look away, not trusting myself to keep my expression anywhere near as under control as I should. Then Satin catches my eye again and the three of us step forwards to meet them.

Up close, the Girl on Fire is tiny, and she hangs back so she's half a step behind Peeta, who at least attempts to smile for the crowd. That is until his eyes drift to my right. Whatever he sees in Gloss's expression makes even the boy who has played the crowds to perfection at every opportunity begin to falter. However it seems that I'm not the only one who notices, because the next thing I know, Gloss and I are pushed slightly aside and Satin takes centre stage to make her speech.

All this time I've thought Gloss and I are the ones who have to perform to our audience, but when I see my sister addressing the massive crowd and listen to her words, I abruptly realise I'm doing her a massive injustice by not grouping her in with us. The nickname she has for Katniss sums up how she seems to feel about her, and I've heard her call Peeta names which are less than complimentary as well, but to listen to her speak now, I'd never guess that if I didn't already know the truth. She praises their bravery and ingenuity, congratulates them on their victory, and then finally compares their love story to an ancient fairy tale. By the time she finishes, many of the Capitolians in the audience are wiping tears from their eyes.

"That's impressive," whispers Gloss as he watches Satin step down from her podium, and I nod in agreement as Victory steps forward, carrying two bunches of flowers that combine to be almost as big as she is.

I watch my little niece as she strides confidently towards first Katniss and then Peeta, meeting their eyes with the solemnity only a five-year-old can achieve as she hands them the flowers. Satin hadn't wanted Victory to take part in the ceremony, knowing she'd appear on the television and that the commentators wouldn't be able to resist telling the world whose daughter she is, but of course she was overruled. I remember how many times Satin told her to present the flowers without speaking and without looking directly at any of the cameras as I watch her retreat back to her mother's side, feeling more grateful than I can say that she did as she was told.

"She'd make a pretty little Victor one day," my sister had said darkly to Gloss and I. "Or that's what will happen if those sick bastards in the Capitol see her and get the idea into their heads."

With that memory in mind, I take a step to the side so I'm standing in front of Victory, blocking her view of the crowds and cameras and more importantly, their view of her as Katniss and Peeta make their speech. But then despite the blackness of my thoughts I abruptly have to fight back my laughter when she clings to the skirt of my dress and rests her head against the back of my legs. Clearly I'm not the only one who has seen and heard quite enough of District Twelve today.

* * *

><p>Much to my relief, the speech Katniss and Peeta give is the same one I've heard ten times before. Neither of them make any attempt to add to it, nor do they mention Glimmer or Marvel, and before I know it we're all being ushered up the stairs and into the Justice Building. The crowd clap wildly and it's a relief to be able to close the door on them. That is until I come to a halt in the massive entrance hall and find the nearest people to me are Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch Abernathy.<p>

"Thank you for the speech," says Peeta tentatively to Satin as Katniss hovers behind him.

My sister nods in reply but she doesn't speak. She rests her hands on Victory's shoulders as if she's reminding herself exactly why she can't say what she's really thinking.

"And I'm sorry about Glimmer and Marvel," Peeta continues, his body language giving me the impression he's addressing me because he doesn't dare look at Gloss.

I hear my brother's sharp intake of breath, a low hiss that rings in my ear long after he's fallen silent, and I move in front of him just in case.

"Think about what you're saying before you mention them," I reply, trying to keep my tone mild and failing dismally even to my own ears.

"Put your claws away, de Montfort," says Haymitch, raising his arm almost protectively in front of his former tributes and ushering them away. "We're just leaving," he continues, nodding down one corridor, where I can see Effie Trinket waiting and beckoning furiously.

The three of us watch them leave, and only when they've vanished from sight do I move away from Gloss. He smiles at me and shakes his head.

"Don't you trust me, Cashy?" he teases.

"No, Gloss, I don't. Not with them," I reply, and then we both turn to look at Satin.

She also shakes her head, her expression almost one of disappointment. "Why have a little girl to do a woman's job?" she whispers under her breath.

Before I can begin to try and process what she meant, she lifts Victory up and strides down the corridor in the opposite direction to District Twelve.

"Don't be late tonight," she calls. "Please."

* * *

><p>The banquet room in the Justice Building has been cleaned and decorated so much that I could almost think I was in the Capitol. And of course, that means I hate it. Everywhere I look there are people, mostly familiar ones from home who are trying to see and be seen at the most prestigious event of the District One social calendar. They don't care that Glimmer and Marvel are dead. They don't care about nightlock berries and double victories. All they care about is that they have the chance to mingle with the visitors from the Capitol. I hate them too.<p>

"Cashmere?"

I turn around and find myself looking up into the dark-brown eyes of Marius Shine, the man Gloss mentored to become the Victor of the Sixty-eighth Games. He stares back at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern, and I'm even more glad than I thought I'd be to see a friendly face.

"What are you doing here, Marius?" I reply, trying to reassure him that I'm fine by teasing him like I usually do. "I didn't think they let the likes of you into fine, respectable places like this."

He laughs and rolls his eyes before passing me a drink that he neatly plucks off the tray carried by a passing Avox.

"Well, I won this little thing called the Hunger Games, you see," he teases back. "So now they have to let me in, illegitimate though I am."

I smile and follow him further into the room, scanning the crowds around me in search of Gloss, knowing he'll have a greater chance of finding me if I stay close to Marius. I hadn't expected them to become friends, mostly because Gloss isn't really friends with anyone, but I think my brother put so much into getting him out of the arena that he decided he should make the effort when he finally returned home. Given the crowded room and what would probably be called my average height, Marius's head is far more likely to be visible than mine.

"I haven't seen him," says Marius, almost as though he read my mind. "But you're welcome to hide with me until he reappears."

I smile at that. Marius is good company and I like him, but the other advantage of spending time with him at events like this is that his presence tends to keep the great and the not-so-good of the district well away. For there's nothing among the upper-classes of District One that's scorned quite as much as illegitimacy, and to be the illegitimate son of a Peacekeeper from District Two…well, that makes something already bad into something ten times worse.

So I stay where I am and watch the massive clock, wishing that time would hurry up and pass by so our visitors from Twelve will move on and I can be left in relative peace until the Games start all over again in six months time. At least next year I won't be mentoring and I'm pretty sure Gloss won't be either.

However after two hours have gone by and I still haven't seen Gloss, I decide I'm going to have to go and look for him. Some of the Capitolian entourage and even a few brave souls from District One who dared to be seen in public with Marius Shine have already been over asking about him, and if they're asking questions then I'm getting worried.

Across the room, Peeta is dancing with one of the visiting reporters as Katniss waits seemingly impatiently for him to be returned to her. I shake my head at the sight of her, remembering what Falco said about Snow and the potential rebellion and how important it is that her devotion to her supposed boyfriend or whatever they're calling him these days isn't questioned. If I were her then I wouldn't be letting someone else dance with him. I'd be stuck to his side so closely that nothing and nobody could keep us apart, and yet there she is, looking on almost indifferently as if she too wishes she were somewhere else. I feel like telling Plutarch Heavensbee he needs to find his rebellion a new figurehead.

"I'm going to find Gloss," I tell Marius, briefly resting my hand lightly on his shoulder before I stand up and start to weave my way towards the banquet hall doors. "But thank you for keeping me company."

I just about see him nod in reply before the crowd swallows me up and I'm carried away from him. When I eventually reach the doors I stop and turn around, having one last look and then finally accepting that Gloss isn't here. I spin around to leave, but instead of walking out into the corridor beyond, I stay still and stare at the man opposite me, only realising how much my hands are shaking when I try to bring them together in front of me.

"We meet again, Miss de Montfort," he says, the yellow eyes that have filled my nightmares for years staring back at me.

I had frozen when I first saw him, but the next second there's a voice in my mind screaming at me to run. It's all I can hear, all I can think about. I can't see anything but him. All I know is that I have to get away. I have to run, and so I do, pushing past the people entering the massive room and ignoring their disgruntled comments. I have to get away. I have to get away now.

* * *

><p>I don't know my way around the Justice Building, and by the time I regain my ability to think enough for me to tell myself to slow down, I'm well and truly lost. I lean back against a wooden-panelled wall, gasping for breath and lifting my hands to my head in attempt to stop the world from spinning.<p>

What is he doing here? What could there possibly be for him here? Unless… No, it can't be. He can't be here because of Katniss. She's just a child, a silly little girl whose first crush happened to captivate the nation. But is Katniss a child? She's sixteen, and in the eyes of the Capitol that's old enough. Finnick Odair proved that. I shudder at the thought and make myself start walking. Panem knows I don't like the girl, but she doesn't deserve that. She doesn't deserve to share my fate.

* * *

><p>The only good thing to be said about the seemingly endless maze of corridors contained within the massive Justice Building is that they're wide and airy, and therefore they make it a lot easier for me to keep the memories of my arena at bay than it might have been. I don't suppose I've been walking for all that long, because really there are probably only so many different ways I can go in a single building, but it feels like I've been wandering around for hours, trying to forget this evening's recent events.<p>

As hard as I try to stop it, my heart is still racing when a tall figure steps out of the shadows in front of me, and I'm in such a state that it takes a few seconds for me to recognise him even though I know him better than I know myself. However when he takes another step towards me, I leap forwards and throw myself into his arms, clinging to him like I'm never going to let go.

"What's wrong? What are you doing up here?" Gloss asks when he's finally managed to extricate himself from me enough to set me back on my feet and look down at my face.

I lean against him once more, resting my forehead against his chest just in case he reads the truth from my eyes. For as soon as I saw him I realised that I can't tell him the truth. If I did that then there'd be one less Capitolian in the world and I'd probably never see him again because of it.

"I didn't want to stay in the banquet hall," I reply, trying desperately to stop my voice from shaking. "I went for a walk but I got lost."

"Cash, you're trembling all over. You look terrible."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, little brother," I say, trying to distract him with my teasing.

"Any time," he quips back, but then his expression abruptly becomes serious again. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Honestly," I lie, "there's nothing wrong. I got lost and I couldn't find my way back. It makes…it made me think of There, that's all. I panicked. But then I saw you."

He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he lets it go anyway, for now at least. He pushes a stray strand of my hair behind my ear and straightens the strap of my dress before hugging me once more as he leads me down the corridor back the way he came.

"What are _you _doing up here?" I ask, suddenly remembering that my original task was to find him.

"Hiding," he replies with a smile. "I got fed up of staring at the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight," he continues, his smile widening as he borrows Satin's nickname for Katniss. "She and Lover Boy were trying to sneak away from the party together and one of the Capitol people saw them. You can imagine the nauseating scene that ensued."

I try not to laugh at the comical look of disgust on his face but I fail dismally. "I can understand the need to get as far away as possible, but people were looking for you."

"Which is all the more reason to hide," he says. "And now they'll be looking for both of us."

"We have to go back or Satin will never forgive us."

"I'm sure she'll get over it."

When we get back to the banquet hall doors, he briefly disappears to make our apologies while I wait for him outside, telling any Capitolians who ask that I have a headache and need to go home to rest. He's Gloss so he knows I was lying about why I was upstairs and how I'd come to be there, I know he does. The idea for the lie was his not mine, and I don't think for a second that he misses my reluctance to go back inside the crowded room. I only hope he doesn't decide to question me further because I'm not sure if I can hold back the truth forever.

* * *

><p>"I wish we could find a way to stop it from doing that," I hiss, speaking under my breath to Satin so Gloss doesn't hear despite how I have no idea how the sudden noise from the television didn't wake him when it sprung to life seemingly of its own accord. "I don't want to see them anymore."<p>

"You have no choice, sister dearest," she replies. "If we don't watch then those who matter will find out. I don't know how but they will."

I nod in reluctant acknowledgement as my eyes are subconsciously drawn back to the screen in time to see Katniss and Peeta step down from the train onto the Capitol station platform. As could have been predicted, they're accompanied by rapturous applause from the vast crowd gathered to see them arrive. In the districts the celebrations often seem forced and are always tinted by grief. Here in the Capitol there is only joy. Nobody in that crowd is mourning.

"I still think she looks funny," says Victory as she watches Katniss's slow progress towards the car that's waiting to whisk her away.

"What do you mean 'funny'?" asks her very amused-looking mother as she leans down towards her.

"She just looks weird."

"Not everyone's lucky enough to be as beautiful as you, dearest."

I laugh at both their exchange and the affection in Satin's voice, which is something I'd never have thought to hear this time five or six years ago. Then I look back at the screen.

It's true what my niece said. To her, Katniss Everdeen seems weird because she looks very different to anyone from District One or the Capitol, even when she's styled to within an inch of her life like she is now. But I can see what Victory cannot. I can see that the newest Victor isn't unattractive. She possesses her own sort of almost fierce beauty that in many ways isn't dissimilar to what Dahlia had, despite how different they are. Neither my last opponent in the arena nor the girl I'm watching now could be called conventionally attractive, but there's something about them which makes that irrelevant, which draws people to them almost as much as my traditional good looks draw them to me.

My initial reaction as Katniss climbs into the car, seeming slightly awkward in her dress and high heels despite all the recent practice she's had, is to feel pity. The whole of Panem knows of the love she has for the younger sister she volunteered for on reaping day, so President Snow won't have to try very hard when the time comes to make her play the Victor's Game.

But then the camera switches angles to show Peeta getting into the car on the other side. All the pity I felt evaporates as the reality of the situation dawns on me for the first time.

When I finished my Victory Tour, President Snow auctioned me off to the highest bidder and I had to submit to my own rape to save my brother's life. When Katniss Everdeen finishes her Victory Tour, she will most likely be publicly packed off back to Twelve with the supposed love of her life while the people of the Capitol plan her wedding. There will be no behind-the-scenes auction of the Girl on Fire, and the abrupt certainty of that knowledge fills me with rage, anger and an odd kind of jealous hatred I've never felt before.

"What's wrong with you?" asks Satin, momentarily pausing in her ongoing debate with Victory to peer curiously in my direction.

"Nothing," I reply, hoping I'll convince her but at the same time not expecting to. I decide to continue with half the truth and hope it's enough. "Watching this brings back memories of what I spend most of my life trying to forget."

Then my eyes meet Gloss's and I know nothing I say will convince him I'm fine. He sits up and narrows his eyes concernedly at me.

"Do you mean like when I had to forget when Mother poisoned Glory Woodville's wine at that party?" interrupts Victory, her words almost enough to make me laugh at her innocence and lack of understanding despite the sick feeling I now have in my stomach.

"It wasn't _poison_, Victory. And anyway, I don't think Aunt Cashmere needs to know about that," says Satin firmly.

"But she fell asleep at the dinner table. In front of all those people from the Capitol."

"Yes, I know," Satin tells her through gritted teeth, looking slightly embarrassed for the first time in as long as I can remember. "It had to be done," she continues, speaking to me this time. "She was bidding for the same contract."

Normally I'd interrogate her further, but this time I don't because my eyes meet Gloss's again and he nods to tell me he understands what I've worked out about Katniss.

"She won't share your fate," he says, glancing at Victory to check her mind is elsewhere and away from our conversation. "Yet another reason for me to hate her."

"I didn't think about it until now," I reply quietly. "All this time I've been hearing about the star-crossed lovers and I didn't think about what it really means."

"I did," he replies darkly. "It isn't just for Glimmer that I hate her."

"I don't like her either, Gloss, but that doesn't mean she deserves that."

"You didn't deserve it either. There's nothing that makes her special."

I shrug my shoulders and curl up against him, not knowing what to say to that. None of us deserve any of it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. Although I have to say I agree with him in a way. There's nothing special about Katniss Everdeen other than the fact the Capitol were captivated by her love story with Peeta. I grip a handful of Gloss's shirt and close my eyes so I don't have to look at her face on the screen, wondering if I'd despise her half as much if I thought that love story was genuine.

"Come in!" calls Satin in response to the knock at the door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," starts Satin's assistant as she peers tentatively inside the room, "but there's a message from the Capitol."

"Don't just stand there, Opal. Come in and tell me what they want."

"Lady Mayoress, the message isn't for you, it's for Gloss and Miss Cashmere," she replies, turning to face us. "There's a train waiting at the station to take you to the city. You've been invited to the Victory Tour party."

"Why?" asks Gloss immediately, tightening his arm around me. "It's District Twelve's party, not ours."

"I don't know," replies Opal, clearly trying not to look too terrified. "I'm just the messenger. But please hurry. They told me it was my responsibility to fetch you, and…"

"…you don't want to…let them down?" I finish, really meaning that she doesn't want to pay the price for failing her task.

Opal nods vigorously and I sigh. I hadn't been expecting this but now it's happened I'm not entirely surprised. The only time the Victors are more famous than they are during the Victory Tour is during the actual Games.

"Come on then," I say, pulling away from Gloss so I can stand up and then holding my hand out to him. I'm going to have to go anyway so I don't see the point in delaying and getting poor Opal into trouble.

"I just need to pack a few things," he says, the look on his face telling me that he wants to talk privately and is making excuses.

"I'm sorry but they said to be there straight away," replies Opal awkwardly, clearly not enjoying having to tell Gloss what to do.

"But why do we have to go at all?" he repeats, still not taking my hand.

I can't help thinking that he knows the answer to his own question, and that worries me more than anything. In the past he's always at least pretended to accept his fate, but this display of reluctance and of his true feelings that I usually only see in the darkest hours of night makes me think he's not going to be able to do it for much longer. And that's when he might say something or do something he shouldn't. I can't let that happen.

"Gloss, we have to go," I say, reaching down and grasping his wrist before pulling against him as hard as I can.

He says nothing but he gets up and follows me across the room, much to Opal's relief. I link my arm with his as we leave Satin's house and climb into the car waiting to take us to the station, reluctantly realising there's no escape. Whether I like it or not, I'm about to see a lot more of the Capitol and the pair from District Twelve. And I certainly don't like it.

* * *

><p>It's freezing cold so Gloss and I spend the journey to the Capitol huddled together in the cabin of the train we were first shown to. I want to talk to him and I can tell he wants to talk to me, but I don't dare speak when I'm sure the whole train is bugged. This isn't the tribute train. Falco isn't here to tell me where it's safe to talk and where it isn't. Better safe than sorry.<p>

"What are we waiting around for?" Gloss asks, making me crane my neck to look out of the window even though I know I won't be able to see anything.

We've been stuck here for over an hour, and if I didn't know they were already here, I'd think the only possible cause of the delay would be the arrival of Katniss and Peeta on the tribute train. However as I saw them welcomed to the city from the comfort of Satin's sitting room, I know there must be another reason.

"Can we at least get some fresh air?" asks my brother when the latest in a long line of Capitol officials arrives to tell us we won't have to wait much longer.

Luckily the man seems to be a bit more sympathetic than average, and he shows us off the train to a small garden just off the platform. I expect the usual mob of reporters and onlookers to be there waiting for us, but I quickly realise we haven't got as far as the main station yet and therefore we're relatively alone. There must be a lot of trains today, all waiting to drop off their passengers. And that most likely means there must be a lot more Victors in the Capitol than there were this time yesterday.

I look around the tiny area of green in the middle of the urban sprawl of the Capitol, appreciating the small trees and flowering plants because they almost remind me of home. However Gloss doesn't stop to do the same and immediately heads towards a circle of trees that have many brightly coloured wind chimes suspended from their branches, totally ignoring the bench I imagine people are supposed to sit on. I hope that means nobody will hear us talking.

"What's going on, Cash?" he whispers as soon as I move to stand by his side.

The wind is blowing quite strongly, making the chimes and the leaves on the trees ring and rustle so much that I struggle to hear him. He turns to face me just before I reply.

"What do you mean?"

"We've never been called here for a Victory Ceremony before. And everything's just different. Even the way they present the propaganda programmes is different. You heard what Falco and Narissa said after the Games. Is it starting again?"

"Is what starting again? I don't know what you mean," I reply, knowing instantly that he's talking about the rebellion and hoping to delay him for long enough so I can think of something to say that won't put him in danger.

"You do, Cash. Don't lie to me."

"I don't know. Honestly I don't know. It isn't like before, that's all I know. What happened in the arena made some people think it was time to…try again. But I don't know when and I mostly don't even know who anymore."

"Are Falco and Narissa…?"

"Maybe. But we can't talk here, Gloss. It isn't safe."

"Do you know what Satin meant by what she said at the Justice Building. Who is the little girl doing a woman's job? Everdeen? What job?"

"Think about it," I tell him. "Think about what you said when the Games ended."

"But how does Satin know…?"

"I don't know, Gloss," I reply truthfully, his question making me think about the very thing I've had my suspicions about for a while but have been trying not to contemplate. "If she didn't hear it from you and she didn't hear it from me then I really dread to think."

"This way please," calls the same official from the gateway. "You need to return to the train now."

Gloss and I quickly do as we're told despite how I'm sure we both wish we could stay here all night, and before I know it we're getting back off the train onto the real station platform. This time there's no doubting the presence of the reporters and camera crews, who push microphones in front of us in sheer desperation for a reaction to the Tour so far.

We ignore all of them as we walk out of the station, looking around for the car that's sure to be waiting to take us to the Training Centre. I turn to Gloss in confusion when I can't immediately see it, and that is how I come to notice the woman quickly approaching us with two companions behind her.

"This way please, Miss de Montfort," she says, beckoning to me and then pointing to one of the waiting cars we didn't think were for us. "Just you, please," she continues when Gloss immediately follows us.

"Why?" he snaps, and suddenly I find myself yanked backwards as he positions himself between me and the Capitolians. Something about his tone of voice makes me reach for his arm, but if he feels it then he gives no sign. "Where are you taking her?"

"It's fine, Gloss," sounds a very familiar and very welcome voice from behind me. "District Twelve have taken over the Training Centre so all of the past victors have to go to their apartments for remake before the banquet."

"Felix!" I cry, spinning around and taking his hand, struggling not to throw myself into his arms when I think about how ugly the situation could have turned if he hadn't arrived when he did.

"It's good to see you, Cashmere," he replies, squeezing my hand and smiling broadly.

"Why exactly _are _you seeing me?" I ask. "Isn't a designer of your standing far too busy to dress a lowly little Victor like me?"

He laughs and I quickly join in when I see the officials making a hasty retreat back the way they came, glancing nervously at both Gloss and Felix as they go. My brother turns around to stand behind me, shaking my stylist's hand when he offers it.

"I'm never too busy for you," he replies. "That is if your brother will let me borrow you…"

"Wear something nice, Cash," says Gloss, talking to me instead of Felix. "And be safe."

"You too, little brother," I reply, hugging him briefly but tightly before following Felix to the car.

I just have time to watch him walk across to where Lucretia now waits before Felix closes the door behind me and I'm immediately pounced on by Charis. She insists she couldn't wait for me to get to my apartment and that she wanted to see me straight away, and I smile at her seemingly limitless exuberance as she then proceeds to tell me all of the city gossip whilst clinging so tightly around my waist that I can barely breathe.

Felix shrugs apologetically when my eyes meet his, but I shake my head to tell him he doesn't need to be sorry. Charis, Callista and Drusilla love me in their way, and besides making me promise never to cut my hair, it's a love that demands little in return. I honestly can't say the same about anybody else in the Capitol besides Felix himself and obviously Falco, and seeing them is one of the few things that makes my time here slightly more bearable. I'd never want an apology for that.

We pull up outside the apartment block I've despised for what simultaneously feels like forever and no time at all only a few minutes later and I allow Charis to half lift me out of the car even though it's barely stopped. I might not want to be here, but I have to make the best of it. Anyone who's anyone in the Capitol will be at that party. I might learn something useful. I might learn the rebellion's further along than I think it is. So it can't be all bad.

* * *

><p><em>I know a lot of you read on your phones but I'm starting to think you're all deserting me... Please tell me you're not... <em>


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks to all of you who reassured me you're still with me - your reviews mean a lot :) _

Chapter Sixteen

For the first time ever when they've been getting me ready, Callista and Charis put the television on. Even though they're talking about something else, they still seem to be half-watching the programme that's on. It's all quite disconcerting really, especially when they're doing my make up and I now have a suspicion I may end up with mascara on one eye and not the other.

It seems to be showing some kind of live tour of a house that looks like a scaled-down version of President Snow's mansion and I wish they'd turn it off. I try to look away so I don't have to see it when it starts to bring back my memories of the place I always see in my nightmares, but the volume is so high that I can't really escape it.

"It'll be on in a minute," gushes Callista. "What do you think they're going to say? Do you think they'll sit on that little loveseat like they did before?"

That's when I remember the Victory Tour process and realise what they're waiting for. Katniss and Peeta's interview.

"It's so romantic," replies Charis, looking expectantly at me as if she's waiting for me to agree with her. "And I'm sure Cinna will have dressed her in something wonderful like he always does. He's almost as good as Felix."

"And what will I be wearing later?" I ask, trying to divert them from talk of District Twelve.

However I swiftly give up when Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen a second later, hair, eyelids and lips still the same disconcerting shade of pale blue. Wherever I go in Panem, there is no escaping from the star-crossed lovers.

When Peeta gets down on one knee and asks Katniss to marry him, both the audience watching from the City Circle and the two-thirds of my prep team who are with me begin to clap and cheer. When she accepts, the noise gets louder and louder. I wrap my right hand around my left wrist and squeeze so tightly that the links of my bracelet leave indentations in my skin when I finally let go. Katniss gets her happy ending. I never will.

"Right then," says Charis, interrupting my thoughts as she runs the brush through my hair one last time. "I'll go and tell Felix we're done." She starts to turn around but then she stops. "Cashmere, is something wrong?"

"No, Charis," I reply, forcing myself to smile. "Everything's fine. Don't keep Felix waiting," I add, noticing that she doesn't look quite convinced.

She smiles back and disappears, and a short time later she returns with my stylist, who looks at me rather strangely when his eyes meet mine. I raise my eyebrows questioningly but he looks the other way, so I pull away from Callista and walk over to him, wrapping my silk robe tighter as I go. That look in combination with how I have been in the Capitol for several hours and I still haven't seen or heard from Falco in some way is enough to make worry start to replace the jealous anger I felt at the sight of the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight.

"What are you not telling me, Felix?" I ask, resting my hand on his arm. "Something's not right, I can tell."

He looks at me, his eyes sad. "Nobody was expecting so many of the Victors to be called to the Capitol for the party at such short notice," he says.

I stare back at him, immediately taking his 'nobody' to mean 'Falco'. And then my mind goes so blank that I can't speak for several minutes and I'm temporarily incapable of processing my thoughts.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I stammer, suddenly too weak to protest when he pushes me gently back onto the chair behind me.

"I don't know what I'm saying, Cashmere," he replies. "All I know is that the Capitol has changed since the end of the Seventy-fourth Games. Most people can't see it but it has. I know you see it too."

"Where's Falco?" I ask, abruptly more worried for him than I am for myself despite the implications of Felix's words.

"I haven't seen him since he found out you and Gloss were coming here today."

"But he's safe? You've spoken to him? You saw him earlier?"

"I spoke to him on the telephone a few minutes ago. He said to tell you not to worry, that he'll think of something."

"Can you get me to his apartment?" I ask, suddenly thinking of the medicine cabinet behind the mirror in the bathroom.

"Why?"

"Because I won't do it, Felix. Not again. Not ever. And neither will Gloss while I can do something about it."

"I don't understand."

I stand up and lean close so I can whisper in his ear. "There are some…things there that perhaps shouldn't be, things that can make a person very sick very quickly."

"Cashmere, you can't. Even if I could get you there, which I can't…"

"The only person I'd poison would be myself, Felix. And Gloss. We live in the same house, so it wouldn't be suspicious."

"Don't be naïve," he replies, his tone more one of sadness than anything else. "Do you think you're the first Victor to think of that one?"

I shrug my shoulders, totally defeated, and start to sink back down onto the chair. Felix doesn't let me, gripping my upper arms to hold me up before leading me across the room to stand in front of the full length mirror in the corner. He unties my robe when I can't hold my fingers steady enough to do it myself and I barely notice when he pushes it to the floor.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to decide how much I've changed since this time nine years ago. Some, but not enough. Nowhere near enough. My waist might be a couple of inches bigger because I haven't wanted or needed to stay in serious training, but I still look like the Cashmere who went into the arena for the Sixty-sixth Games. It's times like this that I wish I was as old as Mags and as homely as Lace.

"Close your eyes," says Felix like he always does, and I instinctively do as he tells me.

I expect him to say I should open them as soon as I've felt him lower his latest creation over my head, but he doesn't, and I realise why when I'm pulled backwards as he tightens the dress.

"Now you can look."

I open my eyes to see myself in a floor-length sparkling golden dress that trails along behind me when I take a step forwards. It's strapless but when I spin around I see the back is firmly laced and knotted so tightly that I suspect Felix will have to cut me out of it later. That is if I'm with him, says a nagging voice in the back of mind, but I push it away quickly. If I'm going to stay sane then I can't think like that. Falco will think of something. And if he can't then I will.

"You might not be on fire but you still shine like the sun," whispers Felix as he stops to look at my reflection in the mirror, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder.

I smile, momentarily lost for words as he echoes what he said when he first dressed me before the Opening Ceremony. I watch him move around to stand in front of me so he can straighten the sapphire pendant I've never taken off since the day Gloss gave it back to me.

"One more thing," he says, crossing to the table and taking something out of a red velvet box. When he returns, he puts up a section of my hair with a gold clip covered with diamonds. "Now you're ready to go."

* * *

><p>I've been inside this wing of President Snow's mansion several times, far too many times, but I don't think I've seen it quite like this, not even following my own victory. Swathes of multicoloured silk hang from massive staircase in the entranceway, sparkling in the light of what looks like a million candles. When my sandaled foot touches the marble floor it makes no sound because of the carpet of rose petals. I turn my nose up instantly. I hate roses.<p>

There are people everywhere, so many that it seems like the president has invited the whole city to Katniss and Peeta's party. Many of them are staring at me, pointing and whispering behind their hands to each other, no doubt dissecting every detail of my outfit. It makes me wish Felix had given me something to cover my shoulders.

I look everywhere for a familiar face, trying not to meet anyone's eyes for longer than a second, but I can't see anyone. From the sheer volume of trains arriving at the station this morning, I expected the place to be full of my fellow Victors, but there is neither friend nor foe to be seen. They must all be inside the banquet room already, waiting for the star-crossed lovers to make their grand entrance.

"This way, please, Miss de Montfort," urges one of the many white-uniformed servants, who has a sadly sympathetic look in her eyes when I shy away from her touch as her hand brushes my arm.

I try to smile, although I expect it comes out as more of a grimace than anything else, before turning and walking slowly through the crowd and into the banquet room. The only tables I can see are the ones that line the walls, and they're all laden with every kind of food I can imagine and a few more besides. Instead people are sitting on the sofas and armchairs that are everywhere I look, helping themselves to food and drink as they watch the various performers who drift around in search of an audience. They don't have to search very hard.

When I hear loud and drunken laughter that doesn't sound quite Capitolian, I know I've found my first fellow Victor. Fortune. Standing by one of the fireplaces with a group of equally drunk people, looking like he's trying as desperately hard to belong as ever. I don't know whether to dislike him for it or admire his ability to find a way to help him bear everything that never seems to let him down.

The more I scan the room as I walk across it, the more I notice the number of young people here tonight. These parties are usually populated by politicians and business people, all looking to improve their status by being seen at the most prestigious venue in the Capitol, but while they are definitely still present, this time it's different. The youth of the city have always been entertained and captivated by the Hunger Games, and I would bet ninety-nine percent of them look at Katniss and Peeta and see nothing more than two teenagers in love. They all want a glimpse of their star-crossed lovers and they're all here to make sure they get it.

Then I sense someone suddenly appear behind me and I hear the tinkling of glasses hitting each other while I still just about have time to move out of the way. When I jump to the side and spin around to see a slightly drunk and very unbalanced looking Phaedra a second before the tray of drinks she was carrying falls to the floor and shatters, for once I'm grateful that part of my mind never left the arena.

She sees me and for some reason she giggles, a high-pitched sound that makes me want to cover my ears to block it out. I'm not surprised she almost fell over when I see the height of the heels she's wearing, and once the hideous fluorescent yellow miniskirt and equally as mini top also register in my mind, I have to stop myself from laughing as well. Her outfit might be the height of fashion here, but surely the girl has a mirror? She looks ridiculous.

"Clear this up!" calls one of her friends, beckoning imperiously to a passing servant.

The friend's outfit is the same only in pink and she's dyed her hair to match. The servant she called obeys her meekly, their expression not altering even slightly. The whole scene reminds me of why I hate it here. Or one of the reasons why I hate it here anyway.

I quickly move on, leaving Phaedra far behind even though she calls out after me. The noise of the crowd takes her words away before I can hear what she says, but I keep going anyway. I'm sure she hasn't got anything to say that I'd want to listen to.

"I've found you," whispers Gloss as he walks into me even though he had plenty of time to stop.

I realise why when he presses something into my hand, wrapping my fingers tightly around it.

"Take it if you need to," he says, leaning so close his lips brush my ear. "Before you leave here so lots of people can see you after you have. I'll never let them have you again. Never."

"And you?" I hiss back, looking nervously around to make sure nobody's watching us.

"I told you before, it doesn't matter about me."

I pretend to straighten his jacket collar, looking up into his eyes the whole time in the hope I can distract him while I'm trying to open the small packet he gave me so I can split it between us.

"No, Cashy, it won't work if you do that. It won't make you sick enough. There's only enough there for you."

"You matter to me, Gloss de Montfort," I tell him, his reversion to my childhood nickname bringing a lump to my throat like it always does. "Stop being so damn selfless for once."

"I have to go," is his only reply as he seems to dissolve back into the crowd before I can stop him. "People are always watching."

I hate it but his words are true, and this time when I look around the room, I see both that we had quite an audience and that we are far from being the only Victors here tonight. It seems the popularity of the pair from Twelve is making us more in-demand than ever.

I turn away in disgust when I see Finnick Odair surrounded by his usual mass of admirers, only for my eyes to fall on Augustus from District Two, who surprisingly looks like he's enjoying himself far more than the man from District Four. He smirks when he sees me watching him and I scowl back, finding Marcus from Five, Beetee, Johan and Marchessa from Three and Johanna from Seven in the crowd before my usual fixed smile reasserts itself.

"Watch where you're going, de Montfort," says an amused-looking Marius as I almost walk into him in my desperation to avoid Johanna Mason. "I see your blue blood didn't give you a sense of direction. If looks could kill…" he continues when I glare viciously back at him in response.

"…you'd have died a thousand deaths by now," I finish in reply, laughing when he does despite how nothing else about tonight is remotely funny. "Any sign of our long-awaited and most-esteemed guests?"

"No, but they're here," he says. "Effie Trinket swept through about half an hour ago looking very happy with herself. It won't be long now."

"Good. We can't have the party without them," I reply, catching his eye to tell him what I really mean is that the sooner it starts, the sooner it ends.

He starts to nod but stops mid-movement, suddenly not looking at me at all and seeming to stop breathing. I follow the direction of his gaze to see Enobaria Moreno glide past in a black floor-length gown that clings to her compact figure in a way that somehow makes her look intimidating even in a situation like this. She's the only woman I know who manages to look quite that scary in evening dress.

Enobaria doesn't seem to see anyone in the crowded room, moving past both people and chairs and tables like there's no difference between them. Her expression is one of a casual menace not many people can achieve and even the Capitolians don't dare stop her.

"Your daddy might have been a Peacekeeper who trained at their Training Centre but she'd eat you for breakfast, Marius," I tease, reaching up to push his head so he's no longer looking at the deadly woman from District Two at the same time as trying to decide when the responsibility Gloss feels for the man he mentored somehow passed on to me as well.

"If she likes," he replies immediately, and I sense he's only half-joking.

"Not that one," I tell him. "Stay away from her, she's trouble. I mean it," I add when he continues to smirk in that way which tells me he's no longer really thinking about Enobaria and is merely seeking to wind me up.

Then suddenly both his expression and body language close entirely at about the same time I hear a familiar voice say my name.

"I saw your sister. I should have known you'd be here as well," I say, turning away from Marius to look up at Phoenix.

"We couldn't miss the party," he replies.

"So said most of the Capitol," says Marius before quickly excusing himself and almost running away.

Only when he does that do I remember how most people see Phoenix. As well as being his mother, Phoebe is one of the most powerful women in Panem, and her son looks so much like her that people never seem to forget they're related despite how they're nothing like each other in character.

When I first met Phoenix on the day I took Plutarch Heavensbee's message to Phoebe, I had thought them very similar, dignified and sensible in the same manner. But Phoenix always seems to go out of his way to see and talk to me when I'm here in the Capitol so I've got to know him a lot better. Now I have, I can say he's nothing like his mother.

I suppose he's typical of the young Capitolians really, but when I see him I imagine him to be a teenage boy rather than a grown man only a year or two younger than me. He stays up all night at parties, he gets so drunk that he can't get up in the morning, he sponsors tributes in the Hunger Games and thinks his mother doesn't know. From what I can see, he has no responsibilities and thinks money grows on trees, or should I say grows in Phoebe's bank vault.

All in all, he's everything a young man of the Capitol should be, and if he didn't tell me about his mother's activities and the rebellion plans, deliberately on some occasions and inadvertently on others, then I wouldn't be able to bear spending as much time in his company as I do. He's harmless enough but he lives in a different world, and what's worse is he thinks I live there too. If he has any idea that I'm never in the big city by choice, he gives no indication of it.

"I like your dress," he says. "It suits you."

"Thank you," I reply evenly, letting the etiquette drummed into me as a child do the talking as I try to see what the commotion going on by the main doors is all about. "Felix is a wonderful designer."

"He has excellent starting materials to work with," he answers, and I am more than relieved when Katniss and Peeta appear through the sea of people, distracting him once more.

I shouldn't say it about the son of such an influential Capitolian, and most of the time he's fine, but there are occasions when Phoenix reminds me of a combination of a spoiled brat and a lost puppy. I step away from him, pretending to be trying to get a clearer view of the pair from District Twelve when really I'm looking for Gloss or Felix or anyone who I can call a friend. I know better than to look for Falco. From what my stylist told me earlier, he will be in full-on Capitol mode, trying to convince the president that he's playing his role in the pantomime we all star in.

* * *

><p>The evening seems to be dragging on forever, and all I can think of as the minutes pass agonisingly slowly by is that I want to go home. But will I be allowed to go home when the party's over? For all the time that's passed since Gloss volunteered for the Games, I've got used to having Falco's protection, to knowing that whoever I go home with will ask me for polite conversation and no more. However there's every chance that will become yet another thing that Katniss Everdeen has destroyed.<p>

Things have changed in the city since she pulled her little trick with the berries, and in a couple of hours time I'll be about to see just how much. I surreptitiously check the tiny packet Gloss gave me is still firmly hidden in the top of my dress, knowing I shouldn't be weak enough to use it when my brother won't be able to do the same but also knowing that I will do it without hesitation if it comes to it. I'm strong but I'm not that strong.

I continue to move across the room, knowing that if I stay in one place for too long then I'm bound to attract unwanted Capitol people, but once I get a short distance away from the tiled dance floor I'm so stunned by what I see that I immediately stop. Plutarch Heavensbee. Dancing with Katniss Everdeen. In full view of most of the government.

What is Heavensbee doing? Is he crazy? Maybe he is. If he's putting his faith and the hopes of Panem in the hands of this girl then he must be. But I've always thought him more sensible than this. So why?

However as I watch them turning around and around, I change my mind. Heavensbee was Achillea's spy before he even became a Gamemaker, but I only know that because I was Achillea's messenger as well. And even then I only knew as much as I did because of Falco, who was obviously a lot more than a messenger.

Whatever Heavensbee said or did to get himself promoted has most likely placed him as above-suspicion as anyone in Panem ever can be. There are very few people in the room tonight who will look at the unlikely pair and see the head of the latest rebellion plot dancing with the one who he thinks will ignite the fire that sets the districts alight. They will see what they want to see, the Head Gamemaker congratulating the latest tribute to be victorious in the arena. As I've always suspected, there's little that's truly stupid about Plutarch Heavensbee. I just wish I knew what they were saying to each other.

I stop myself just before I look away when they suddenly stop dancing, continuing to watch them as discreetly as I can. Heavensbee takes something from his pocket and shows it to Katniss, who seems mildly and politely diverted but nothing more. She says something further and he replaces whatever it is where he took it from before bowing to her in the traditional Capitol-fashion. Then he starts to walk towards me.

"Miss de Montfort, what a pleasure to see you at such a happy celebration."

"Gamemaker Heavensbee," I reply, inclining my head and not trusting myself to say anything further.

"_Head _Gamemaker Heavensbee now," he corrects with a smile, which broadens when I look away, furious with myself for being nervous enough to forget that when I'd been thinking about it only a few minutes earlier.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Congratulations on your promotion."

"As I was saying to Miss Everdeen," he whispers, leaning closer to me with a slightly conspiratorial look on his broad face, "there weren't all that many takers for the job, especially with next year being a Quell."

"I sincerely hope you achieve all you wish to," I reply, and I can tell from the look he gives me that he understood what I really meant by that.

"We must talk again, Miss de Montfort, but for now I have to go. Meetings to go to, you see. A Head Gamemaker's work is never done."

"I'm sure," I reply, suddenly grateful that he can't read my mind because all that's going through my head is a series of sarcastic comments I'd love to make which all revolve around asking how difficult plotting the most entertaining way to kill twenty-three people can possibly be.

As I watch him leave I keep reminding myself that he's the head of the rebellion plot, that he's been working for the revolution for years and years and that that's got to mean something. It's got to mean that he opposes the Games and the endless list of other barbaric things that Snow does in the name of peace. But somehow that doesn't help when he talks about the Quarter Quell so casually. I wonder what they'll do this year? Every one has been worse than the one before, and with all that's still going on behind the scenes with the pair from District Twelve, things are sure to get worse.

* * *

><p>I spin around on the spot when I hear Falco's voice, but when I find him, he's in the middle of a group of people, a lot of whom I recognise from seeing them on the television. He keeps talking and I can't fail to notice the subtle difference in his voice, the formal way he speaks, the way his accent is just that little bit more pronounced than it is when he's talking to me. His eyes find mine for a split second but then he looks away and doesn't look back. There isn't room for my Falco here tonight, only the government minister was invited to this party. There's too much uncertainty for it to be any different.<p>

"Cashmere, would you like to dance?" asks Phoenix, appearing at my shoulder so suddenly that I only just manage to stop myself from reaching for the dagger Felix made me leave behind.

"Later," I tell him. "I need some fresh air first. I don't feel well."

Then I rush out of the vast room and up the stairs in the direction of what looks like a balcony without looking back. Although I can't deny I was trying to sow the seeds that will make any illness I inflict upon myself later tonight seem more plausible, I meant what I said. The sight of Falco in full-on Capitol-mode is always enough to make me need some air, because it's so like a different person inhabiting the body of the man I've loved for so many years that I can't bear it.

"What are you doing here, de Montfort?" snarls a voice as soon as I step through the curtain onto the balcony. "You can't be here."

"Leave her alone, Tiberius," says Ursala as I peer through the almost-darkness to find her black eyes staring back at me. "You don't have to go, Cashmere."

"I wasn't planning to," I retort, glaring up at Tiberius despite finding it impossible to avoid noticing how much I really do have to look up. "What are you doing out here?"

"Mind your business, de Montfort."

"I wasn't talking to you, _Silvestri_," I snap back before attempting to push past him.

If I'd been any bigger than I am then I wouldn't have got very far because he doesn't move a millimetre, but as I am, I just about manage to get closer to Ursala. This close up I can see her a lot more clearly, and to my surprise I notice her eyes are red, almost as if she's been crying. But that can't be right. From my past experiences I'd say there's about as much chance of Satin becoming the president as there is of someone from District Two giving in to such a physical display of emotion.

As if to prove my point she wipes the back of her hand roughly across her eyes before looking defiantly up at me.

"I've been here in the Capitol since just after dawn, Cashmere," she says. "And I haven't exactly spent the day in remake. I'm just feeling a bit…fragile."

I know Ursala well enough to know that 'fragile' to her is 'complete physical and emotional wreck' to virtually everyone else, which is confirmed when I perch on the bench beside her and she doesn't push me away, not even when I shuffle close enough that my shoulder brushes against hers. We sit in silence for several minutes, until Tiberius steps forwards and reaches down towards her.

"Courage, 'Sala," he says, tugging at the thick bracelet of blue wool she still wears around her wrist when she's in the Capitol. Then he walks away without saying another word.

I open my mouth to say something to my friend but I quickly find that I have no idea what to say. When I think about it, I'm surprised she doesn't despise me like I despise Katniss Everdeen. Part of the reason I hate the girl from Twelve is that she will not have to suffer as I suffered when I was here for my Victory Tour, but if I can hate Katniss then surely Ursala is entitled to hate me. She knows enough of the truth to know that I don't go through what she does. So why doesn't she hate me? For nearly ten years I've been asking myself that question, but I've never been brave enough to ask her. When she links her arm through mine, I realise tonight isn't going to be the night I find my courage.

* * *

><p>We sit outside on the balcony for at least an hour, telling each other every five minutes that we should go back in and never quite managing to move. It's only when we start to hear the sounds of people moving into the hall from the banquet room that we finally find the strength to stand up.<p>

"One more time," says Ursala, her voice more defeated than I've ever heard her sound before. She squeezes my hand and vanishes through the curtain before I can even think about stopping her.

Once she's gone I realise I have no choice but to follow her. I don't want to but I have to. For Satin and Victory. Even for Miracle, who kept the promise he made to me so many years ago. He's stood by Satin, fought for her and never hurt her, and I never thought I'd say it but I love him for it. He became my family in an entirely different way to the manner my father once intended, and that means he's mine to protect. Despite how I certainly won't be telling him that.

When I reach the doors of the banquet room, I instantly and instinctively look for Gloss and then for Falco. I can't see either of them, and I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed by that. Instead, the first person I do see is Phoenix, and he's by my side so quickly that it's almost as if he was waiting for me.

"The party's over now, Cashmere," he says. "It's time to go."

"I can't go anywhere, Phoenix," I reply, knowing from the tales I've heard of his friends' nights out on the town that he isn't naïve to the reality of my situation. "I have to wait here."

"No, you don't," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and then removing his hand just enough for me to see the half-crushed white rose resting on his palm. "You can come with me."

"I… I don't…"

I don't know what to say. He might not be anywhere near as involved as his mother but he knows about the rebellion. However I'm pretty sure he has no idea about Falco and what's between us. So why is he standing here with a white rose in his hand? Did Falco tell him? Did he really trust this immature boy with the secret that we'd both die for if it got out? Maybe he did. Maybe he thought he had no choice and that Phoenix was his only option.

"I've got a car waiting for us," he says, offering me his arm in that traditional Capitolian way that has been imitated in my district for decades.

I look around briefly and realise I can't say no. And when I think about where I could be going right now, I'm not sure I want to say no. There's a lot worse than Phoenix, and even if Falco hasn't spoken to him, he isn't the yellow-eyed man I saw again yesterday and he certainly isn't the second man I can't allow myself to think of if I'm going to remain sane. I feared them because I knew instantly that they'd be capable of doing what they did. Phoenix isn't. If I'm any judge of people at all then I can say that Phoenix might be a lot of things but he isn't that. But that doesn't mean I can begin to understand what's going on.

"Phoenix, I-"

"Come with me, Cashmere. Please."

I look up into eyes that are just like his mother's and take his arm, allowing him to lead me from the president's mansion to the car that's waiting outside. I look for Gloss but I can't see him. When I think about it, I decide that's probably just as well.

Phoenix taps the black panel dividing us from his driver and the car pulls smoothly away, leaving the City Circle behind. It reminds me of Falco's car, right down the tinted windows which allow us to see out but nobody to see in, and for the first time tonight I begin to relax. That's when Phoenix leans over and kisses me.

"No," I say, instinctively pulling away. "Phoenix, you're a good man. Don't do this."

"But there's no shame in it here, Cashmere. I know what District One is like but it isn't the same in the Capitol."

"No," I tell him again, sitting further away to reinforce my words and resisting the urge I suddenly feel to tell him that he has no idea about anything outside his own little world of parties and socialising.

When I finally feel ready to look at him, I'm surprised to see hurt and rejection in his eyes rather than anger. That's when I realise that for some mad reason I can't begin to comprehend, this isn't just a business transaction with President Snow to him. It means something more to him, and he wants it to mean something to me as well. He might be my age but he suddenly seems very young.

"You really are his, aren't you?" he replies, not quite managing to sound like a man rather than a boy who is sulking because he realises he isn't going to get his own way. "That's what Mother told me once, but…"

I know he means Falco rather than the president, and that worries me more than I can say. If Phoenix knows the truth then how many other people do? How can we hope to keep our secret from Snow if half the Capitol knows?

"I belong to myself," I say. "And I can't give you what you want."

"I just thought…"

…that because I've had everything else handed to me on a plate, I convinced myself you'd be no different. That's what I imagine part of him is thinking, but I stop myself from saying it because the sadness in his expression makes me feel almost sorry for him. He is the product of his upbringing as much as I was before I went into the arena. To some extent he can't help what he is. If he's selfish, immature and irresponsible then that's what the Capitol has made him.

"There are thousands of girls in the Capitol, Phoenix. You don't need to waste your time thinking about someone like me. And you certainly don't need to pay the president for my company. You're better than that. I know you are."

"It wasn't like that," he replies, shrugging his shoulders and sighing deeply. "I'm sorry, Cashmere. Truly. I just wanted someone real, someone who wasn't manufactured on a surgeon's operating table. I guess I'd convinced myself you'd want me too."

"I don't know what to say. We were friends, Phoenix. We still are friends, but I don't think about you in that way."

"I've… I've got something to tell you that I think you should know," he says, shuffling in his seat like a schoolboy telling tales to a teacher. "It's about Gloss-"

"What about Gloss?" I snap, abruptly losing all patience and kindness when he mentions my brother.

"He…he left with Phaedra," he replies, his words spilling out in a rush once he starts. "All of this was her idea. I didn't want to go along with it to start with, but then…well, she started talking about you, and…"

"And you let her talk you into it?"

He nods and I shake my head, silently wondering how I manage to get myself into these ridiculous situations. It would all be funny if the underlying reasons why we're here weren't so horrific.

"Promise me something," I say, suddenly feeling more like I'm talking to Victory than a grown man capable of setting up the deal he made with the president. "Think for yourself in the future. Don't listen to your sister. You'll be much better for it."

He nods again and then we sit in a vaguely uncomfortable silence that's interrupted only once by Phoenix's phone ringing. He doesn't speak but as soon as he hangs up, he taps the divide and tells his driver to go home. I stare out of the window, watching the Capitolians partying on the streets and wondering where we would have gone if I'd given him the response he hoped for. It feels like all eternity passes by before he speaks again.

"I saw you talking to Plutarch," he says. "What did he say to you?"

"I was congratulating him on his promotion, that's all," I reply. "Head Gamemaker is a very prestigious and powerful position. He will have a lot of influence now. And access to a lot of information."

"Which I'm sure will be greatly beneficial to a lot of people given how…unsettled things are in Panem at the moment."

"Yes, I'm sure," I say, trying to decide how safe it is to talk to him and what I should and shouldn't say. "It's very difficult to know exactly what's going on and everyone's still talking about the end of the last Games even all these months later."

"They'll be talking about the next Games soon enough," he replies, looking pointedly at me. "If the rumours are true then it's going to be the biggest show Panem's ever seen."

"And what do the rumours say?"

"Just that," he answers immediately, and I don't think he's lying to me. "The Gamemakers seem to be having meetings all day and even the president is getting directly involved this time. I think they're looking to do something that will detract attention from what happened with Everdeen and Mellark."

Well that's new. I'd heard the rumours about the amount of planning going into the third Quarter Quell but I hadn't heard the president was helping to plan it. My heart sinks at the thought. Whatever ideas he's got in his head, nothing good is going to come of it, I'm certain of that. Nothing good for the people of the districts anyway.

Before long, the streets we drive along get wider and wider and the houses get increasingly bigger. I soon find myself looking out onto the City Circle again and I'm not surprised when the car pulls up outside Phoebe's grand mansion. I follow Phoenix along the path to the front door, only stopping in attempt to see why there's a noisy crowd of people gathered around the area the stage usually fills. I get the feeling they're not there to marvel at how quickly the Avoxes dismantled the aforementioned stage, but I don't have chance to look any closer.

Phoenix leads me straight to his mother's palatial kitchen, and when I get there I'm rendered temporarily speechless when the first person I see is Gloss. He's sitting at the table, and when he sees me, he pushes a bowl of strawberries in my direction. The smirk he has on his face tells me both that Phaedra's plans didn't work out for her and that he can tell instantly that the same applies for Phoenix.

"Fancy seeing you here, sister mine," he says, pushing the strawberries further towards me.

"What are you doing here?" I reply, pretending to be annoyed when I really couldn't be happier to see him. "Why are you sitting in Phoebe's kitchen?"

I take both a seat beside him and a strawberry from the bowl, turning to lean against him when I decide the back of the chair is far too uncomfortable. I only remember Phoenix when he asks where his sister is.

"She stormed off in a strop about an hour ago," answers a very stressed looking Phoebe as she walks in.

When I look more closely I decide she's more than just stressed. There's something seriously wrong, but I don't get chance to ask her what as she immediately continues, glaring at her son.

"What the stupid girl thinks she's doing buying Victors… Honestly… And you!" she snaps, whacking the back of his head sharply. "You're no better for going along with it."

I can't help but laugh and when I look at Gloss I know he's thinking the same thing. Phoebe fights for the revolution, she's very unprejudiced for a Capitolian and she's always been courteous to both of us, and yet she still says 'buying Victors' in much the same tone my mother used when she was talking about buying furniture or flowers to put on the dining room table. She is still a child of the Capitol and she really has no true comprehension of what she's talking about.

"Phoebe, is there something wrong?" I ask, deciding to risk it even though I know I should probably just stay out of it and that she most likely won't tell me the truth anyway.

"Wrong? Why would you say that?" she replies, taking her gloves off and putting them in the fridge.

Phoenix laughs and tells her to get a grip but I say nothing and Gloss does the same. Phoenix is her son so he can talk to her like that but I've always been very aware of who she is, perhaps more with her than virtually anyone else in the Capitol because of her usually permanent air of superiority and self control. This is the first time I think I've ever seen it waver.

"Vespasian's dead," she says flatly as she retrieves her gloves and drops them on the table.

"What?" asks Phoenix, while I stare blankly at her in surprise.

"Did you see the crowd outside?" she says, rolling her eyes in exasperation when I nod and her son shakes his head. "Some reporter found him about an hour ago."

"How?" I stutter. "What happened?"

I didn't know him all that well but from what I did know he was a good man for a Capitolian, and he'd worked for Achillea's rebellion for many years when she was still alive. As far as I know, he'd continued to do the same when she died as well, although he always gave me the impression he was loyal to Narissa rather than Heavensbee.

"Whoever killed him cut his throat. And not from behind if the gossips are to be believed. They're saying it's the work of anti-government rebels."

"Why would they say that?" asks Phoenix incredulously. "He was one of us."

"And he wasn't the most discreet person in Panem a lot of the time," I reply, staring at the bowl of strawberries in a sudden and unusual fit of embarrassment. "If I had to guess I'd say Vespasian said or did something that gave him away and then _He _had him killed because of it. Then he put it about that rebels killed him so he could attempt to radicalise the rest of his government and cause friction amongst the rebels at the same time."

"Very good, Cashmere," says Phoebe, reminding me so sharply of Achillea that I immediately look up. "If only my own children had half of your political intelligence," she adds, looking reproachfully at Phoenix.

"If that's what he did then is it working? And who killed Vespasian?"

"It's too early to say," she replies. "And I have my suspicions but I couldn't possibly speculate."

"What are you talking about?" interrupts Gloss, reaching around me to tilt my chin up so I have to look at him. "Vespasian's a government minister. What has any potential rebellion got to do with him?"

"Quite a lot," I reply when Phoebe nods her head once to say I can. "He was involved in the plot. The one before, I mean. The one that failed."

"And now?"

"Perhaps. I told you, I don't know about that."

"But you do," he says, turning to Phoebe.

"I know enough to know I shouldn't be telling you. Either of you. I apologise for any distress my children have caused you tonight, but it really isn't safe for you to stay here. For any of us."

"I understand," says Gloss, reverting abruptly back to the brother I remember from my childhood, the boy who would accept virtually anything with a serene calm I never possessed. "We'll leave you now."

I stand up when he does but that doesn't stop me from wanting to stay so I can attempt to find out all I can about what happened. As soon as we're in the car Phoebe arranged for us and on our way back to the train station, I turn to Gloss and frown at him.

"You understand?" I say, repeating his parting words to Phoebe. "You understand? Don't you want to know what's going on? Don't you think we should find out?"

"She wasn't going to tell us, Cash," he replies mildly, "no matter what we said. And we'll find out soon enough. I don't want you to be part of it. It's too dangerous."

"You can't make that choice for me," I tell him firmly.

He says nothing, staring out of the window even as he puts his arm around my shoulders. I know I should be angry with him but I'm not, and I smile as I watch him glaring at the Capitolians he hates so much as we pass them by. Maybe it is best just to go home, to take advantage of the time we have there before we're sent for again. Falco's role in this rebellion plot isn't as central as it was in the last one. Perhaps I'll be able to convince him to stay out of it as well. Perhaps if we stay out of it then we'll be left alone.

However by the time the car has pulled up outside the entrance to the station, I realise that's never going to be allowed to happen. We'll never be left alone. Falco and I will never have the white wedding Peeta has promised Katniss. For as long as we live, we will have no peace. For as long as we live, we will never truly be free.

So maybe we should trust Heavensbee after all. Maybe we should go along with any plan he has in case it works. If he's the one keeping the dream of freedom alive then maybe we should follow him. Before it's too late.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

The first district rebellion started on the night of Katniss and Peeta's banquet. I saw the images of the mob in District Eight's main square on Satin's television when I returned home, I saw the Peacekeepers firing their guns randomly into the crowds without caring who they hit, and the images remain etched into my mind even three months later. This isn't the subtle government takeover that Achillea planned, this is war, a brutal and bloody battle where no side really wins until it's all over.

It was soon rumoured that similar uprisings had been going on in Three and Four after that, and although there were no reports or images of destruction, Falco was able to confirm what Satin would not. It's all true. The rebellion has started, and though more people have already died than ever did when the first attempt failed, these new revolutionaries don't seem to be any closer to achieving the freedom they want. In fact, it seems to be getting more and more unlikely that they ever will with every day that passes.

Even here, the Peacekeepers' powers have increased, and if they've increased here then I dread to think what's happening in some of the other districts. Tales Satin tells me of public whippings in Twelve and starving children in Eight make Miracle's complaints about the new curfews seem minor and insignificant. However that doesn't mean I like being told I have to leave the main square and return home any more than my brother-in-law does, which is exactly what happened tonight.

Apparently there's to be a broadcast that is compulsory viewing for everyone, or that's what the Peacekeeper who very nearly lost his arm when he dared to touch mine said as he attempted to direct me back inside. What it's about, I couldn't begin to guess. Probably just more propaganda, more demonstrations of how wonderful the supposedly benevolent rule of the Capitol is for the whole country. If there's a single soul outside the big city who believes that then I'd be very surprised, but we have to watch the programmes all the same. The second thing a person of the districts learns after they discover the Capitol isn't as benevolent as it likes to think is that the consequences of not doing as instructed are always dire.

"Satin? Gloss? Where are you?" I call as I push the front door to my sister's house closed behind me.

I know my brother came here to bring Victory back after taking her to the park so I decided to come here instead of going home. I know Gloss well enough to know he's most likely stayed here because he wouldn't want to go back to an empty house.

"In here, Cash," answers my brother, and I follow the sound of his voice to Satin and Miracle's small informal sitting room at the back of the house.

I push the door open slightly and peer inside, smiling when I see Gloss sitting on one of the sofas with Victory asleep on the other side. Satin and Miracle sit on the other one, with her leaning back against him in a very uncharacteristic display of informality.

"There's no room for me," I tease, but Victory wakes up immediately at the sound of my voice and she jumps up just as quickly, racing across the small room to wrap her arms around my legs.

I love Victory, I always have, but I've never been very good with children, and all three of the others laugh when I stand there, paralysed and unsure what to do next. It's something that happens more and more frequently all the time, because though I never know quite how to react to my niece, I think she senses I love her despite that, and she seems to go out of her way to spend time with me, ignoring my uncertainty in way that terrifies and amazes me in equal measure.

"You can sit by me, Aunt Cashmere," she says, pulling away so she can take my hand and lead me to the sofa. "Sit down," she continues when we get there, and Gloss smirks when I do as she says.

"The only person in Panem who can truly give you orders," he says, laughing when I scowl at him.

"Do you know what delights we'll be watching tonight?" I ask, turning to look at Satin as Victory curls up against me, resting her head just below my chest as I try to make myself remember to breathe.

This time it's my sister who scowls. "The Girl Who Should Be Set Alight is getting married," she replies. "And the people of the Capitol are going to be deciding what she wears when she does."

"All this is for Katniss Everdeen's wedding dress?" I say, but even as I speak it suddenly makes sense.

The government is relying on people maintaining the belief that what happened at the end of the last Games was due to love not rebellion. What better way for them to encourage that belief than holding the ceremony in the Capitol and involving everyone who got so involved with the story of the star-crossed lovers in the planning for the big day?

"Of course. It's been the talk of the Capitol for weeks but this is the first time we have to be subjected to it. Hopefully it will be the last as well, but I won't hold my breath."

Just as the clock on the sideboard chimes for half-past seven, the television comes on to show that they've put the stage back up outside the Training Centre. The City Circle is so full of people that they're all I can see, a mass of brightly coloured faces with eyes shining in anticipation as Caesar Flickerman introduces himself exactly like he does when he presents the interviews for the Games.

Then Cinna is introduced, and the man who first made the audience notice their now-beloved Girl on Fire exchanges a few words with the presenter while the camera pans around the crowd until it finds the group of other stylists sitting in the stands. Felix is there, sitting by Lucretia's side despite how he doesn't style for the Games now. Even in his green and silver shirt, he's the most mutely dressed person there.

"Why does she have so many dresses?" asks Victory as the so-called top six of Cinna's designs are shown. "Doesn't she only get married once?"

"The Capitol people are going to choose their favourite," replies Satin. "And then she'll wear that one."

"She looks silly," says my niece thoughtfully, staring intently at the picture on the screen of Katniss in a flowing white gown encrusted with pearls. "What did you wear when you got married?"

My sister doesn't answer her daughter immediately and I see her exchange a glance with Miracle. Then she smiles and turns to look back in this direction.

"I didn't dress up when I got married," she says. "I'm not famous like Katniss is."

"You're famous now, Mother. You're the…mayoress," replies Victory, stumbling slightly over her mother's title.

"But I've been married to your father a lot longer than I've been the mayoress," she replies, smiling again. "Though what I ever did to deserve any of it, I have no idea," she continues in a much lower voice when Miracle smirks back at her.

"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" shouts Caesar, struggling to make himself heard over the roar of the City Circle crowd.

I turn away from the television then, sighing with relief that the programme didn't last too long. Victory gets up and runs to Miracle, asking if she can go back to the park. He quickly tells her that it's too late and that the Peacekeepers won't allow it.

Three months ago I'd have laughed at her protests, especially when she tells him she can run quicker than they can so they wouldn't catch her, but none of us are laughing now. She might be able to run quicker than the men and women who patrol the district, but she can't outrun the bullets from their guns and she wouldn't be the first person to meet their end that way since the new rules were introduced. She wouldn't be the first defenceless child either.

"And now onto the second part of this exciting evening!" shouts Caesar, making us all fall still and return our attention to the previously forgotten television. I thought it was too good to be true that it was all over so soon and it seems I was right. "You all know what's coming next! That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell."

The crowd in the Capitol cheers loudly, raising their arms up so they can clap their hands above their heads. The only person who moves here is Miracle, and that's only to pull Victory up onto the sofa beside him. Such is the atmosphere in the room that even the little girl senses it's best not to argue.

"The Games aren't for three months yet," says Gloss slightly confusedly. "It's too early."

"Not for a Quell," replies Satin, making us both turn to look at her in shock. "Quells are different so they announce them early. The president reads a card so everyone knows what will happen. Or that's what they did last time. Father told me about it once, about when they took four instead of two."

I nod, narrowing my eyes at the screen as President Snow appears and begins by telling everyone about the previous two Quells. I don't know why he bothers because I doubt there's a person in Panem who doesn't know the tale of how the districts had to select their own two tributes fifty years ago and send twice the number to their deaths twenty-five years later.

The winner of the second Quell was the man mentoring the latest victors. I still remember watching the replays a few years later as a young girl, burying my face in Sapphire's hair so I didn't have to watch the axe rebounding off the edge of the arena to embed itself in the skull of the girl from home who nearly won.

"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," announces the president as a little boy in a white suit steps forwards carrying a wooden box. Snow removes the envelope marked '75' and opens it with a flourish. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

"No," gasps Satin instantly. "They can't do that. It goes against the rules of the Games. They can't."

Gloss reaches across and puts his hand over mine. I turn to look at him, not really understanding, but then as I repeat Snow's words in my head at the same time as staring into my brother's horrified eyes, it all falls into place. They're reaping the tributes from each district's group of previous winners. And that means there's a chance we could go back in the arena. A one in eight chance for me and a one in six chance for Gloss.

"I can't go back in there," I stammer, pulling back as if distancing myself from the television will make them less likely to draw my name from the reaping ball. "You can't go back in there."

"I won't let them send you in there again," says Gloss, his first thought for me instead of for himself like it always has been. "Never."

"What are you going to do about it if they do, Gloss?" I reply, my voice sounding more than a little hysterical. "Force Lace to volunteer in my place? Send old Iri in there so the Capitol can watch her ask the other Victor-tributes to tell her who she is before they kill her?"

"If I have to then yes, I will."

I open my mouth to speak again but I can't find words. What can I possibly say? Snow has taken so much from us over the years, but never once did I imagine a time when he would decide to send Victors back into the arena.

"I don't understand," says Victory, her voice cutting through the horror-struck silence. "I don't understand what President Snow said. Aunt Cashmere, why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying, Victory," I say, but I raise my hand up to my cheek and it's wet with tears when I take it away.

"Come on," says Miracle to his daughter, trying to sound normal and failing. "Let's go for that walk."

"Miracle Lancaster, don't you dare even think about taking her outside," snaps Satin.

"It's fine," I tell her. "We'll go. Give everyone some space."

"Don't be ludicrous, Cashmere. Every reporter, camera person and wannabe celebrity in District One will be camped outside the Victor's Village. You can't go home."

Despite how I haven't always enjoyed living in the Victor's Village, I suddenly want nothing more than to go back there, to be surrounded by my belongings and everything that's familiar to me. I stand up, preparing to run without really consciously thinking about it.

"No, Cashmere," shouts Satin, getting up and moving to stand in front of me before attempting to push me back down onto the sofa.

I lash out without thinking, my mind half inside the arena I remember as I send her reeling across the room. Victory starts to cry, wrapping her arms around Miracle's neck and burying her face against his shoulder so she doesn't have to look. He swiftly carries her from the room.

"Satin?" I whisper, regretting what I did more than I can say as I edge across the room towards her.

When she turns to face me, she looks more upset than angry. I haven't hugged my sister since I was little older than Victory, but I throw myself at her now, clinging to her all the more when she grips me so hard I can barely breathe.

"At least you're still vicious when you want to be," she says, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"I can't do it again, Satin. I can't go back there," I reply, her words only making me fall apart even more.

She's still supporting most of my weight as she guides me back towards Gloss and transfers me to his arms instead. The bewildered expression on her face does more to make me smile than her previous attempt did. Years of training by our father made it so she usually finds it very difficult to show her emotions or deal with emotional outbursts in others, and I suspect she'll remember that hug for longer than I will.

Gloss lifts me up and lowers me down again, adjusting my position on his lap without letting me go. He hasn't said a word since he promised he'd never allow them to send me back into the arena, a promise I know he might not be able to keep, and when I look up at his face, his mask is as firmly in place as I've ever seen it. He pulls me closer so I can't continue looking at him, and I abruptly realise that I'd sooner go to the Capitol for the Games myself than have to watch him become a tribute again.

"Stay here tonight," says Satin, moving towards the door. "Use whichever of the bedrooms you like."

She's gone before I can reply, but I'm still there when she returns in the morning. I remember falling asleep held tightly in Gloss's arms, but I'm alone when I wake. I scan the room frantically for a note or something to tell me where he's gone, but there's nothing. I look at my sister but she shrugs her shoulders, telling me I have to eat something.

I do as she says. Not because I'm hungry but because the nagging voice in the back of my mind tells me that I'll need all the strength I have if they send me back There.

* * *

><p>The streets somehow feel different after the announcement. There's a kind of tense uncertainty in the air that seems almost tangible. The whole of Panem thought the Victors were untouchable, but now the government has just proved them wrong. Now I'm sure people across the country are all starting to think that if we aren't safe then they might not be either.<p>

It feels strange to be walking this way, to be walking past the entrance to the park and off towards the not-so-nice part of town. I haven't been this way for years. I haven't needed to. For this is the way to the place where I spent a significant proportion of my childhood and teenage years training for the Games.

When I look up at the building, I immediately see that it hasn't changed a bit. It still looks like a normal house from the outside despite the massive gymnasium within that takes up most of the upper floor. I wonder who has been maintaining it, because the woman who trained the three of us retired shortly after Gloss went to the Capitol.

Then I reach the front door and realise it probably hasn't been maintained at all. The paint looks relatively fresh from a distance, but up close I can see how it's peeling off, blocks of white showing starting to show through underneath the red. I reach for the door handle and it rattles loosely when I twist it. But this is the only place I've ever associated with learning to fight. I have to come here because I don't know where else to go. I don't know where else there is for me to find out just how out of condition I've got.

Everything looks the same. That's the first thing I notice as I begin to climb the wide staircase. Despite how the massive window ahead of me on the first landing is so filthy that it blocks out most of the light, it feels almost like it was yesterday when I walked this same pathway for the last time. I half expect Sapphire and Gloss to race around the corner to meet me like they did so many times in the past, and despite how I know it's never going to be any different, my heart still sinks when I realise my sister's laughter will only ever sound inside my mind.

"I thought you'd come here," says Gloss as I walk slowly into the slightly dark and dusty looking gymnasium.

He stands in the middle of a shaft of sunlight coming down from one of the high windows, practice sword in hand and dressed in a shirt and trousers remarkably like those he wore to training before. He looks a little older, a little bigger, but it isn't enough to stop it from being almost like stepping back in time ten years. I had no idea it would be so painful.

"I couldn't think of anywhere else," I tell him, picking up a practice sword from the pile on the floor and testing its weight by passing it from one hand to the other. Once it would have felt like an extension of my arm. Now it just feels alien.

"You don't need to train, Cash," he says, stepping forwards back into the shadows. "You're not going back in the arena."

"One in eight chance, Gloss," I reply, trying desperately not to think how the odds are even worse for him. "I might be."

"One of them will volunteer," he says, knowing as well as I do that I'd never willingly race for the stage a second time.

"Don't be naïve. Nobody would volunteer twice. Nobody who has lived through the Games and understands what it's like to survive the arena would ever volunteer again."

"Then Iridescence should do it," he says quietly, almost as if he's reluctant to give voice to his thoughts but is determined to do so all the same. "She's lived her life. She'll lose the least."

"And her family?" I reply. "Iridescence de Quincy has children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They'll never allow her to volunteer and we both know she's no longer capable of making the decision for herself. Besides, even if she could then she probably wouldn't be allowed to."

"What do you mean?"

"Iri wouldn't exactly be very…entertaining, would she?" I reply, my tone of voice telling him what I fear to express in words.

Gloss looks away, swinging the practice sword back and forth before finally drawing it back and slamming it into the wooden storage cupboard he stands beside with enough force to make it collapse to the floor in thousands of splintered pieces. I hate seeing him so angry and full of rage, but at the same time I'm comforted by the blatant display of strength. If his mind remains together enough then there's a chance he could escape the arena if he went back there.

"Why?" he asks, his anger abruptly replaced by confusion and defeat. "Why are they doing this? He's taken everything but our lives from us already. Must he have those as well?"

"You know why," I reply, walking slowly across the massive space until I stand by his side. "You've seen District Eight just like I have. You know why."

He says nothing for several minutes, staring down at me without blinking. I want to cry when he finally speaks, because his words make me think about what I've been trying to put to the back of my mind. The worst might not happen. Reaping day could come and go with some other poor souls having to face the arena again, and for a second I can almost picture us standing in the main square watching as Lace and Fortune take to the stage. Then I realise that in my daydream we're standing together and Gloss's arms are wrapped tightly around me. Reality would never be like that. Reality would never be that perfect.

"I couldn't live without you, Cashy," he says. "I won't let them take you from me."

"It might not happen, Gloss," I reply, taking a step back from him. "But if it does then we can't stop it, you know that, don't you?"

He doesn't answer me but his eyes don't leave mine for a second.

"What are you really doing here?" he asks eventually. "Training or remembering?"

"Training," I lie, raising the practice sword as I move further away. "Or I would be if you'd have the decency to stand and fight."

I tighten my grip on the hilt of my sword as he raises his in response to my teasing, and then I quickly look down when a rough edge digs into the skin of my palm. I see immediately that the rough edge is the side of a crudely-carved butterfly's wing, and I know then that I've inadvertently picked up the wooden practice sword I used as a girl. I take a deep breath and tighten my grip again, wondering why it doesn't feel more familiar than it does.

Gloss leaps forwards at the same time as I do, and our wooden swords clash, the noise echoing around the otherwise silent gymnasium. I pull back and prepare to attack again. I only just have time to stay my hand when I realise Gloss is no longer moving.

"I won't fight you," he whispers, dropping his weapon to the floor with a loud clatter. "Not now. Not even with a practice sword."

I stop and stare at him, and a second later I drop my sword as well. I swiftly follow it and sit on the dusty floor when I realise that I can't fight him either. There's another possibility besides one of us or neither of us being reaped and now I've finally let the thought in after fighting it ever since Snow read the card, it hits me with a level of force equivalent to that of the tribute train.

"Don't think about it," he says, sitting down beside me and pulling me back against him. "I won't think about it and you won't think about it. Promise me, Cashmere. Promise me."

"I promise you that I'll try, little brother," I reply, reaching down to lift my practice sword again. "Do you remember it?"

"Of course," he says, lifting the other one so I can see the dragonfly on the hilt. "Dragonfly and Butterfly. I got two swords that were the same and put the carvings on them because you and Sapphire always used to argue over which sword belonged to who."

"And now look at us."

"We couldn't have predicted any of this," he replies eventually, standing up and taking me with him. "But maybe you're right. You should train. Just in case."

I nod and walk across the room towards what's left of the straw dummies we used to practice on. Most of the straw has long since disintegrated, but the material that held them together is still intact enough for them to be recognisable. Gloss follows me, his footsteps barely audible.

"Go," he breathes, just like our trainer used to.

I begin the training drill I was first taught when I was eight and then practiced every single day until the day I volunteered for the Games. Once I start, I find I remember it like I last did it yesterday, but once I get to the end, I realise that while I might look like the girl who went into the arena, the Cashmere I was then was a lot fitter than the one I am now. By the time I slam the sword into the neck of the nearest dummy, sending a cloud of dust and straw in Gloss's direction, I'm gasping for breath.

I put my hands on my knees and look up at my brother. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he can see it as well. That was way more difficult for me than it should have been. I'm nowhere near arena-fit and it would take a lot longer than three months to get there.

"If you practice then it will get easier," he says, his smile full of a false optimism I know he doesn't believe.

"Get real, Gloss," I reply, my breathing finally returning to normal. "I couldn't defeat Iridescence."

"Now you're just exaggerating," he says firmly.

"I know, I know," I say, starting to attack the nearest dummy once again and only stopping when it collapses in on itself around my feet. "But I'm not what I was and we both know it."

"Neither am I," is his reply, but when he picks up his sword again, I quickly see he's in a lot better condition than I am. Much to my relief.

* * *

><p>We spend the whole morning at the old gymnasium, sometimes training and other times sitting on the filthy floor so we can talk. At some point the familiar place of mostly happy memories must get to both of us, because when I turn to the window to see the sun has risen high in the sky, I realise my heart doesn't feel quite as heavy as it did despite how the situation hasn't changed. I look across at Gloss and he smiles faintly back, an expression which is also something I remember from years ago.<p>

"We'll have to go soon," he says softly. "Or we'll be missed."

"I don't want to leave. I wish we could stay here forever."

"I think Falco might have something to say about that," he replies.

"He could come here too."

"I don't think so, Cash. Not permanently anyway. This is one big room and there are some things a brother really shouldn't see his sister do."

"Gloss!" I shout, picking my jumper up off the floor and throwing it forcefully at him because it's the nearest thing I can reach.

He smiles as he stands up, laughing when he throws the jumper back at me and it lands on my head, temporarily covering my face.

"Come on," he says, holding his hand out to me and pulling me to my feet when I accept it. "We can go to Satin's and torment her for a while."

"What have I told you about giving Victory all that sugar? It's not just you who suffers when Satin dumps her on our doorstep because it's made her hyperactive."

He just laughs and leads me back down the stairs and outside. However when we get back onto the road to the main square, his laughter and smile vanish so completely that it's as if they were never there. The Quarter Quell announcement has brought all of the Capitolian reporters and camera crews back, just like Satin said it would, and they pounce on us as soon as the District One people trying to go about their business alert them to our presence.

Question after question comes flying at us as we attempt to continue onwards, and they crowd around us so closely that it's virtually impossible to move. Gloss puts his arm around my waist, shielding me from them as he tries to push his way past, but it's difficult even then.

"Home, I think," he says, struggling to make himself heard over the noise despite how close we are. "It's closer than Satin's."

"Yes," I concur, but just as I do, a car screeches to a halt beside us, sending assorted Capitolians flying into each other as they dive out of the way.

When I look at the car properly, I immediately back away. Metallic black, tinted windows, polished so much that I can see our reflection in it, it has to belong to the Capitol.

"Miss de Montfort, I've been instructed to take you to the station," says the uniformed driver once he's fully wound down the window.

"Why?" I ask.

"Both of us?" asks Gloss, speaking at exactly the same time as me.

"No, just Miss de Montfort. The president wishes to see you."

"Why?" I repeat, backing away a few strides before I force myself to stand still.

"That's not for me to know, Miss de Montfort," replies the driver. "But if you could get in the car then we'll be on our way."

I look at Gloss and he looks at me, both of us ignoring the shouts of the reporters who are still gathered there watching us.

"Why?" I echo, this time speaking so quietly that only he will hear.

"I don't know. I'll come with you," he says, opening the car door and getting inside before the driver can protest.

However when we see all of the Peacekeepers at the station, I soon realise there's no chance of us staying together.

"Gloss, you can't come with me. Go home and tell Satin where I've gone. See if she's heard anything. And do that one thing you promised me you'd do."

"I will," he says, nodding to tell me he understood what I meant, that I want him to tell Felix what's happened so he can get a message to Falco. But then he changes his mind and grasps my arm again, following me across the station.

My last memory of District One before I leave is the sight of my brother being restrained by at least four Peacekeepers as I'm ushered onto the train.

* * *

><p>No matter how many times I ask the man driving the car where he's taking me, he doesn't say so much as one word. If I hadn't heard him talking on the phone when we first arrived at the station then I would think he's an Avox. The fact he isn't makes the whole situation even worse. I don't know where I'm going but I instinctively know it's somewhere bad, somewhere like the part of the president's mansion I saw nine years ago when he temporarily turned me into the Capitol's whore. I'd never want to drag either of them into anything bad, but that doesn't mean I don't wish Gloss and Falco were here with me.<p>

Then the car swings into the City Circle and I realise I've known my final destination since before I even got on the train in District One. I should feel fear and dread when we come to a stop outside President Snow's mansion, but instead I feel only numb. This isn't a party. There's only one place I'm going.

The uniformed man who was driving the car has to grasp my arm so I don't fall over as soon as I step outside. He still doesn't speak.

"This way, please, Miss de Montfort," says the Peacekeeper who meets me at the front door.

I want to tell him that I know the way already, that I've been here to this part of the house before and that I've never forgotten even though it was over nine years ago, but when I open my mouth to speak, no words come out. I take a step backwards even though the rational part of my mind knows I've got nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide, and that one step quickly becomes two and then three until before I know it I'm back in the City Circle again, gasping for breath and insanely wondering if I'll make it across to Phoebe's house. What I think she'd do if I did, I have no idea. There's no escape.

"Miss de Montfort, the president doesn't like to be kept waiting. Come this way," commands the Peacekeeper, and when I look up I see that he is no longer alone. His colleague moves towards me and my heart sinks when I finally acknowledge that there is truly no escape.

Last time I was here, my Peacekeeper escort took me all the way to the door of Snow's office, but this time they leave me at the other door, the one that leads off the entrance hall and is virtually hidden behind the vast marble staircase. One of them gives me a push when I stop to stare down the dark, forbidding corridor, and I spin around to glare at him. My driver made sure I walked through the metal detector at the station and I swiftly lost the dagger I usually keep strapped to my arm, but I find myself reaching for it all the same. The Peacekeeper laughs, his expression telling me he knows and that he's enjoying my powerlessness.

He closes the door behind me and suddenly the only source of light is the sconces on the wall at the end of the corridor. The heavy wooden panelling and blood-red carpet hasn't changed, and I make my way silently along for what feels like hours, jumping at every shadow and reaching for the dagger that isn't there. Why am I here? Why me and not Gloss? Why now? Surely the president has more important people to occupy his time than me, especially following the Quarter Quell announcement. But I don't want to think about that. I can't let myself think about that.

When I reach the massive mahogany door, I know I should knock on it and get this over with, but I can't seem to make myself raise my hand to do it. I can't stand here forever, I know that, but I'm unable to move all the same. Then the door swings open as if of its own accord, and suddenly I'm staring into the office that has appeared in my nightmares for nearly a decade. It hasn't changed a bit.

"Come in, Miss de Montfort," calls President Snow, his voice low and almost lazy, which sets me even more on edge instantly.

I take a pace forwards, knowing I have no choice but to obey, but then I stop dead, not quite managing to take another step. If I thought I was scared before then that is nothing compared to what I feel when I see Falco sitting on the other side of the president's huge and ornately carved desk.

His face is an emotionless, expressionless mask until he looks up and sees me, then it's almost as if that mask falls to the floor and crumples into a million pieces. He rises slowly to his feet and reaches his hand out towards me.

"Sit down, Mr Hazelwell," hisses Snow, his horrible, artificially full lips twisting into a wicked smile. "You're not doing yourself any favours."

I know I should expect him to obey Snow because everyone in Panem with even half a brain does so without hesitation, but for some reason it's still a shock to see him sit down immediately and without comment. I've never seen him look so defeated, not even when Achillea's rebellion failed.

"You as well, please, Cashmere," says the president, his tone mild.

It's the first time he's ever called me Cashmere instead of Miss de Montfort, and the way he looks at me as he says my name makes me feel both dirty and vulnerable at the same time. I almost run across the room to sit down just so I can be close to Falco. When I rest my hand on the arm of my chair so it's next to his, I stare intently down, focussing on the contrast between the colour of my skin and Falco's so I don't have to look up into the president's eyes.

"When I was a very young child," starts Snow quietly, "I had a friend who used to live in the house next door."

I do look up then, finding it almost impossible to imagine Coriolanus Snow as anything but the terrifying man who is sitting opposite me now. He's leaning back almost casually in his throne-like chair, alternating his gaze between us like he knows how confused we both are about where he's going with this and is enjoying it immensely.

"And one day," he continues, "my friend told me that he couldn't come out to play because his father wouldn't let him. This carried on for days and days until I eventually decided that no father would be that cruel to his son for so long. When I went around to his house, I found him in the garden with a new friend, and when they saw me watching they told me they didn't want me there with them. I ran home to my mother then, and I cried and cried. But when I eventually stopped, I promised myself that I'd never allow people to lie to me and hide things from me ever again. Now do you see my reasoning for sharing with you this sad tale from my childhood?"

"No. I don't understand," I whisper, unable to let go of the tiny hope I have that this isn't going where I think it's going.

"You're a consummate actress, Miss de Montfort, but did you seriously think you could fool me? Nobody ever fools me. I always win."

"Really, sir," I continue, sounding slightly desperate even to my own ears. "I don't understand."

"Last time you sat where you're sitting now, I gave you one small, simple task. I thought you were intelligent enough to realise all you had to do was complete it."

"But I did," I stammer. "I've come to the city whenever I've been invited and I've always done as I was told."

"No," he replies, his voice no louder but suddenly becoming harder and more threatening than any other voice I've ever heard. "You have systematically defied me for over eight years. Aided and abetted and no doubt bedded by Mr Hazelwell here as well."

"You know nothing," snarls Falco, speaking for the first time in a tight, constricted tone I barely recognise.

"I know everything," says Snow, suddenly mild and almost amused-sounding again. "And I naively had more faith in your intelligence than that, boy. Did you seriously think you could hide what you were doing and what was between you from me?"

When he addresses Falco as 'boy', I abruptly remember that he was a boy when they first met, that President Snow has been a direct part of Falco's life for as long as he can remember. I cross my legs in attempt to stop them from shaking and my hand moves across almost subconsciously to touch Falco's. He doesn't move. There's no point now.

"How long have you known?" I ask, sounding a lot steadier than I dared hope to.

"As I told you on the day I called you here to tell you what was expected of you, earlier that day, I had a meeting with Mr Hazelwell where he offered me everything he owned in exchange for you. After that, it didn't take much to discover the truth."

"Why should I believe you?" says Falco. "Why should I believe you when you did nothing for all of these years?"

"I have lost nothing by letting things continue as they were," replies the president. "Regardless of how her false patrons didn't get what they were supposed to be paying for, your precious Cashmere has generated me enough revenue to fund the building of a significant proportion of the arena for the next Quarter Quell. Which is something I find quite delightfully ironic when I consider how she'll be participating in it."

My blood turns to ice as the meaning of his words slowly sinks in. Nobody wins against Snow. Not ever. He's been planning this for years, biding his time and letting us believe we'd kept our secret hidden from him. And now I'm going back into the arena. Now there's only a one in twenty-four chance that I will survive. I don't think I can do it again. I don't think I can face it again.

"No. It was my idea, I planned it all. I wanted her, you've always know that. She was meant to be mine. You denied me and I couldn't bear the thought of someone else having her," replies Falco, starting off more arrogant and Capitolian than I've ever heard him. But by the time he finishes speaking, not even he can hide the desperate, pleading note in his voice as we both sense nothing he could say is going to help. "Do what you like to me but leave Cashmere out of it. I'm begging you, please."

The tears I'd just about been managing to hold back finally start to fall at the sound of Falco being reduced to begging for my life and even offering his own in my place. He's the all-powerful government official from the Capitol, he doesn't beg. He's the man I fell in love with, and I can't let him die for me.

"No," I shout frantically, leaning forwards in my chair and ignoring Falco when he tries to pull me back. "I'll do it, I'll go in the arena, I'll do what you wanted me to do, I'll do whatever you want, just let him go!"

"And that is another thing that's wonderfully ironic, Miss de Montfort. I was thinking of you and your defiance when I had the idea for the third Quarter Quell many years ago, but at the time I couldn't possibly imagine how perfect it would turn out to be. Now I have the chance to host the greatest show Panem has ever seen, dispose of the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve and crush this pathetic attempt at rebellion at the same time. It's all rather poetic, don't you think?"

"You'll let Falco walk out of here?" I ask desperately, not knowing if I'd believe he'd keep his word whatever answer he gave me.

"Of course," he replies, smiling that cruel smile again. "Who else would I choose to draw your name from the ball on Reaping Day?"

Falco makes a choking, strangled sound beside me. "I'll never do it!" he shouts. "Never!"

Snow laughs. "You have two choices available to you: You either draw her name from the reaping ball and take the small chance you might be able to save her from the Control Room, or you refuse and I kill her right now. In front of you. When you're close enough to reach out and feel the life draining out of her. And you've known me for long enough to know I can do it, haven't you, boy? You've seen me do it before."

He looks at me then, his eyes slowly drifting down to my chest. When he doesn't turn away, I look down as well, and that's when I notice the small red light over my heart. Falco sees it a second later and he throws himself in front of me so the light falls on him instead. Then he stands up, dragging me with him by wrapping my arms around his waist so my chest is pressed tightly to his back and he shields me entirely.

"I'll kill you for this," he hisses. "I swear I'll bring you down."

"Shall I take that as an acceptance of my offer to continue your role as Capitol Escort to District One?"

I can't see the president's face but his voice is even and almost conversational, just like it was when I was here before, and he's neatly manoeuvred me into his trap as effectively this time as he did then. Only this time Falco's with me, and this time I'm really going to die. The president will make sure of that.

Even if the fact that any form of disobedience isn't tolerated wasn't something that had been drummed into me for as long as I can remember, Katniss Everdeen and her nightlock berries have taught me one thing: nobody defies Snow and gets away with it forever. Today has taught me that Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are going to die in the arena as punishment for their perceived rebellion and I am going to die as well. There are far too many coincidences in the reaping for anyone to believe the results are entirely down to chance and now I've heard it direct. I thought when I came here that I had no escape. I didn't begin to realise just how true my thoughts were.

* * *

><p><strong>The first of many scenes which were actually painful to write. I can't believe how attached I've got to these characters! So… What do you think of the beginning of the end? Take a second to let me know and I might feel slightly better about being so horrible to poor Cashmere... <strong>


	18. Chapter 18

_The response I got last week was amazing so thank you :) Over 200 reviews already!_

_I just need to say that credit for the creation of 'Marchessa' goes to the fabulous be-nice-to-nerds, who was good enough to let me borrow her for a short time._

_Now on with the chapter..._

Chapter Eighteen

Falco and I are escorted from the president's office by his Peacekeeper guards almost as soon as our tormentor sends for them, and they don't leave us until we're standing back in the City Circle. Or almost standing in my case. I'm trembling so much that I can barely stay on my feet. However when I look at Falco he seems like a statue carved from stone.

"Falco?" I whisper, my voice shaking as much as my body. "Falco, we have to go. We can't stay here."

He doesn't speak and he doesn't even look at me, but he must have heard what I said because he's walking away before I've finished my last sentence. I follow him, not knowing what else to do and not feeling able to bear even the thought of not staying by his side. He walks so fast that I almost have to run to catch up.

"Falco, where are we going?" I say eventually, trying to ignore the stares of the people we pass, who all seem to be craning their necks so they have a better view of the Hunger Games Victor and the government minister as they walk silently along the street with expressions that I'm sure look almost lethal.

He still doesn't answer me, but when his car pulls up alongside us, he yanks the door open and pushes me inside ahead of him. I start to ask him something else simply to break the silence, but soon stop when I can't think of what to say. I can't think at all. All I can hear inside my mind are the president's words replaying over and over again. I'm going back in the arena. The one in eight chance has gone far away to leave only certainty behind. He knows I defied him and he wants me dead. My card is as marked as Everdeen's, and neither of us are going to live to hear the trumpets sound as the end of the Seventy-fifth Games is announced.

The car screeches to a halt when Falco smacks the partition between us and his driver, his usual self-control giving way to an almost violent display of anger. It's the first sign I've seen since we left Snow's office that he's feeling anything at all, and I don't know whether to be grateful for it or not.

He gets out, wrapping his hand around my wrist and dragging me after him, and when I look to see where we are, I immediately recognise his apartment block.

"Are you sure we should be here?"

"Why not?" he retorts sharply. "We don't exactly have to worry about getting caught now."

As if to prove his point, he grasps the front of my dress, pulling me close and kissing me far more harshly than he would normally. Then he lets me go just as quickly, pushing me away, turning on his heel and striding towards the entrance door.

"Falco!" I call after him once I manage to refocus on where I am. "Falco, wait!"

He holds the door open and I follow him into the lift and up to his floor. Once we reach the apartment, he heads straight to his study. It looks exactly the same as it always has, in my memory at least. Exactly the same as it looked when I first saw it on the night I gave myself to him before any of the sick excuses for human beings who wanted me could buy me from Snow.

However this time he isn't sitting behind the desk. This time he paces around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists furiously as if he wants to hit something else as hard as he hit the partition in his car.

"How…? Why is he doing this? What's in it for him? Why?"

"You know why, Falco," I reply, moving to stand in front of him so he can't keep pacing. "Because he can't abide defiance. Because of the way the districts view the Victors and how influential they could be if there was an uprising. Or maybe just because he can. There's no better reason than that to him really."

His rage seems to leave him then, and he sits down on the edge of his desk. For once we're almost at eye level, and he never looks away. I step closer and he reaches across to run his hand through my hair.

"I love you," he says softly. "I can't lose you."

"I've had a better life than a lot of people," I tell him, trying to be strong for him and to stop my voice from shaking as I lift my hand and rest it against the side of his face. He leans into me and it's suddenly even harder not to cry. "I'd rather have had the time I've had and spent with you than have had forty or fifty years living with the memories of what the president would have made me do and the knowledge that he'd made me the Capitol's whore until they got bored and decided they didn't want me anymore. I lived through it twice and I think three times would have made me wish I was dead anyway. You saved me, Falco. And I love you more than anything, not just because of that."

"Don't talk like that," he replies, pulling me forwards so I'm standing between his legs. A single tear trails down his cheek and I wipe it away. It's the first time he's ever cried in front of me, when he thought I was aware enough to know about it at least. "Don't talk like you're going to die. You're not going to die, Butterfly. I'm not going to let him kill you. I got you out of the arena once and I'll get you out again."

"If he wants me dead then I'm dead, you know that even better than I do."

"Nothing's certain in the arena. The people of the Capitol love you, and I don't just mean the ones who want you," he says, gripping my hips and sharply pulling me against him in a gesture so possessive I'd have told him off if the circumstances had been different. "I mean the ordinary Capitolians, the likes of Charis and Callista, even Phoebe and Phoenix."

I shrug my shoulders, deciding that now probably wouldn't be the best time to tell him about what happened with Phoenix at the Victory Tour banquet.

"Is there such thing as an ordinary Capitolian?"

"I'm being serious," he says firmly, his tone telling me he's strategising so he doesn't have to truly think about what just happened. "If we're clever and can plan this properly then even if the Gamemakers have been told you need to die then we might not give them the chance they need."

"And Gloss? This will kill him as surely as it kills me."

"Don't tell him."

"I can't hide something like this from him. I can't hide anything from him, Falco. I couldn't even hide his birthday presents when we were children. How do you expect me to hide this?"

"You said it yourself," he replies. "Your brother's sanity is hanging on a thread that gets weaker with every new trauma that happens. If he knows three months before the Games that your name is going to be pulled from the reaping ball then that thread will snap so quickly not even you will have a chance of catching him before he falls. But if he's still whole on reaping day then he'll stay that way because he'll know it's the only way to save you."

"And then he'll come to the Capitol with me as a mentor and whore himself around half the city to get me sponsorship money. Then the president will kill him too."

"Snow's argument is with us, not with Gloss. He's too valuable to kill. And as for the other, I don't care. I'll do the same myself if that's what it takes to save you and nothing you say will make me change my mind. Nor Gloss's once he knows, I'm sure."

"This is all useless, Falco!" I exclaim, horrified by what he's suggesting and terrified by the thought of becoming a tribute again in equal measure. "Snow wants me dead so I'm going to die. There's nothing anyone can do about it. Not me, not Gloss, not even you. I might as well be dead already!"

"No! It's not going to happen!" he shouts, pushing me just far enough away from him so he can turn around.

When he does, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending half of the things that were on top of it crashing to the floor. I instinctively jump back but he reaches for me and sits me on the desk instead, reversing our positions before I have time to think about reacting. Pulling me closer also pulls the fabric of my dress tight across my knees when it won't stretch any further, but he ignores it and it soon rips, the sound somehow seeming louder to me than the papers and glasses which fell to the floor seconds earlier.

"You'll be in such trouble with Felix," I tell him, half-heartedly trying to break the atmosphere that's enveloped the room even though I know it won't work.

"I don't care," he replies, holding me against him easily as tightly as he did when we were in the president's office and his Peacekeeper had a gun pointed at my heart. Then he changes the subject again without letting me go even slightly. "There is something that could work," he says, and I can tell by his voice that he knows I won't like it.

"What?" I ask, hating the tiny spark of hope I suddenly feel in response almost as much as I love it and cling to it.

"Everdeen."

"What do you mean? You think she's a waste of time."

"I don't want you to join her, Butterfly. I want you to kill her."

I try to pull away so I can look at him but he doesn't let me.

"I don't understand," I say. And I'm not sure I can kill again, but I don't say that aloud, knowing it's not what he wants to hear.

"Who does Snow want dead more than anyone else in Panem?" he replies, and the way he says it tells me he doesn't like suggesting it any more than I like listening to it. "Everdeen. If you kill her then you'll be doing what he wants. If you kill her then he might let you live."

"But… I don't know if I can. Or I can, but I don't know if I can bear to kill again," I say, finally admitting what I've been thinking ever since I knew I was going back into the arena.

"She's little more than a child and she doesn't deserve to die, I know that. But you deserve to live and I need you to live. Nothing else matters."

"There'll be twenty-two other people in the arena, Falco," I say. "And they'll all be Victors. It won't be like before. There'll be no Elsahs and Octavians this time."

No, this will be a million times worse. I might have to face Finnick Odair just like Sapphire did ten years ago. I might have to fight Vikus Cortez, and I know who would win that one. I might have to fight Ursala, and that would be a million times worse again. And then there's the unthinkable, but I'll go mad if I think about that. I can't think about that. I can't.

"I love you, Cashmere de Montfort, and your family loves you too. Gloss loves you. You'll fight to get back to us, I know you will."

He lets me pull back enough to look at him then, and as I do, I know what he said was true. I can't begin to say how much I don't want to go back into the arena, how sick I feel at the mere thought of it, and after that first attempt in the gymnasium today, I'm not even sure I'm capable, but there's enough of the Cashmere I used to be left inside me to try and fight this. If I give up then Snow really will have won. If I give up then he truly will own my mind as much as I thought he thought he owned my body, and I'll never let that happen.

"You're still alive, Butterfly. I can feel your heart beating. Tell me you'll fight."

"I'll fight," I echo eventually. "For you and for Gloss."

"We'll fight and you'll live," he says, and when he pushes me back across the desk I let him, because I know that if I do then there will be a time when Snow and his schemes and his Quarter Quell temporarily cease to exist.

* * *

><p>The following morning I make my way to the train station alone, leaving Falco behind at the apartment. I think I said goodbye to him about ten times before I finally managed to make myself walk away, but there was no chance of him coming with me because there was no chance of me allowing President Snow the satisfaction of seeing the tears in my eyes as I left.<p>

I spend the entire journey home trying to stop myself from thinking about the arena by making myself think about what I'm going to say to Gloss. Because the more I think about it, the more I know that I can't tell him the truth. No matter what I think of to say, I'm not at all convinced that he'll believe me, but I know that I have to try.

I expect him to be waiting at the station for me even though he couldn't possibly know when to expect me back, but he isn't. For once there's hardly anyone there at all, not even the usually ever-present reporters, so I quickly retreat to my house in the Victor's Village before they catch up with me. When I get home, Gloss isn't there either. He's probably training. I hope he's training. Just in case.

The more I try not to think about what will happen in three months time, the more vivid the pictures my imagination paints become. I imagine an arena that looks just like There, only this time I'm the girl trapped inside the room as the walls close in on me. The president would like that, I think. I don't suppose there's much chance of him allowing me to have a quick and painless end.

That thought makes me think of Cato and the wolf-muttations, of how long the Gamemakers made him endure unimaginable pain. What if they devise a similar end for me? What if Gloss and Falco have to watch as I'm slowly torn apart before their eyes? What if Victory sees? I'm not Cato. I don't have anything like the strength and willpower he had, and I know I'd scream a lot louder a lot sooner. And then the whole of Panem will see how weak I really am. But that won't happen, I tell myself as I curl up into the tiniest ball possible in the corner of my armchair. Falco will be in the Control Room. He'll find a way to end my suffering long before it goes that far.

I look around the room, at the photographs on the mantelpiece and the clothes scattered around, both mine and Gloss's, and the true implications of what President Snow told me sink in that bit further. In a little over three months time, this room probably won't look like this. In a little over three months time, Gloss will have to live in his own house instead of in mine. In a little over three months time, Gloss will have to live alone and without me. I let out a shriek of anger and fling the cushion I was clinging to across the room into the wall. Seconds later I'm crying all over again, rocking back and forth as I find a replacement cushion and hold it like I'm never going to let go.

* * *

><p>Eventually it gets to the point where I have no tears left, and much to my relief, Gloss still hasn't returned. I lift my head from the arm of the chair and look around the room again. This time I notice the unfamiliar white box on the table.<p>

Curiosity gets the better of me and I walk slowly towards it, wiping my face with the back of my hand as I peer over the top of the flaps to see inside. To start with all I can see is pile upon pile of small silver disks, each labelled with a number, but when I get closer I see a single sentence written on its inside in Satin's familiar elaborate handwriting: _Know your competition, just in case. S._

Then I realise what I'm looking at. I'm looking at the box containing recordings of all the previous Hunger Games that I remember from my childhood, although the number seventy-four that rests on the top of one of the piles tells me that my sister has updated the collection before bringing it to me. I reach out towards it but then quickly snatch my hand back at the sound of the door swinging open. Seconds later I'm almost knocked off my feet as Gloss crashes into me.

"What happened? What did he want with you? What did he say? Did he hurt you, Cash?"

"Give me a chance to speak," I reply as he lifts me up, crushing me against him. Then I turn my face against his neck so I have a few seconds longer to compose myself in preparation for telling the lie I have to tell.

"Did he hurt you?" he repeats, waiting several minutes before finally collapsing onto the nearest armchair and taking me with him.

"No, Gloss, he didn't hurt me," I lie, once again resting my head on his shoulder so I don't have to meet his eyes. "He was asking me about Vespasian."

"Vespasian?" he repeats, and I'm more grateful than I can say to hear the incredulity in his voice because it means he believes me. "He can't possibly think you were in any way involved. He's the one who sold you to Phoenix," he continues, and I don't have to see his face to know how black his expression is when he says that last sentence.

"He doesn't think I'm involved," I reply, "but he thought I might know something. He thinks Vespasian and I…knew each other a lot better than we actually did."

He nods at that, confirming he understood what I meant. Vespasian has bought my time from Snow for years, and my brother doesn't know the president's always known it for the façade it actually was. But unfortunately Gloss isn't stupid either, so I'm half expecting his next question to come, not daring to think lying to him would be so easy.

"But didn't Phoebe imply that the president was the one behind Vespasian's death in the first place?" he says, whispering in my ear so quietly I can barely hear him.

"Yes, but appearances still have to be maintained, don't they? People have to see questions being asked or they get suspicious."

I hope he doesn't hear or feel my sigh of relief when he releases his grip on me slightly and leans forward towards the box of recordings.

"I recognise that," he says. "But I thought Father got rid of it when he cleared everything out of your room."

"Satin must have kept it. She added to it before she brought it here as well. She thinks we should watch the other Victors again so we know what we might be up against."

"You're not going back in the arena, Cash," he replies. "I told you that."

Oh how wrong you are, little brother, I think as I force myself to get up and walk over to the box. I don't really want to watch the recordings but if it makes it easier for me to maintain my lie then I'll do it.

"You don't know that," I tell him as I carry the box back to our armchair.

"No, I don't know it for sure," he replies, taking the box from me and beginning to sort through its contents, "but if I imagine you back there then I can't think straight, and then I'm no good to anyone."

I take the box back off him and put it on the floor before sitting back on his lap and wrapping my arms across his shoulders. I knew lying to him would be difficult but this is almost impossible. All I can think of doing is telling him what President Snow really said, about how he knows about me and Falco, about how he wants me dead because of it and how he's going to see I end up dead by sending me back into the arena. But I can't tell him any of that, not when I know what will happen if I do.

"Do you think we should watch them?" I ask eventually as I look down at the disks.

"I remember a lot of them," he replies, setting me back on my feet so he can lean over to look at the box as well. "From when we used to watch them before."

I nod, remembering how the three of us would sit watching Games replays for hours when Sapphire was still alive. I remember trying to imagine what it would be like to be a tribute, I remember turning away from the screen whenever something especially brutal or horrific happened, but above all I remember thinking about what it would be like to be the one crowned at the Victory Ceremony. Back then it looked like freedom to me, and everything else, however awful, would pale into insignificance in comparison. Now I only wish I could tell my sixteen year old self that perhaps marrying Miracle Lancaster wouldn't be all that bad.

"But it's the ones we don't remember that we should think about," I tell him. "The recent ones that we've tried not to watch. Because those are the Victors who will be young enough and whole enough to be the biggest competition."

"Start from here or earlier?" he replies, holding up a disk with the number fifty-five written on it in thick black ink.

"Later," I say. "And there's no point watching that one because he's dead," I continue, referring to the man from District Nine who won the Games that year.

"He isn't," replies Gloss instantly.

"He is as of yesterday," I say, just remembering that he probably won't have heard. "It was all over the news in the Capitol."

"He must really hate the one left behind," he replies.

The way he says that makes me certain that 'He' is President Snow. I'm even more certain when I recall how District Nine now only has one surviving male Victor and that his place in the arena is now as certain as mine.

"What are you doing?" I ask, watching Gloss as he sorts the disks into two piles.

"We won't need all of them," he replies blackly, placing disk number fifty-seven on the pile furthest from him.

Then I understand. Magnificence Goldsmith won the Fifty-seventh Games and Magnificence Goldsmith is dead. There are some Victors who have escaped President Snow forever. They've gone somewhere far away where he can't touch them, to a place where the arena is even less than a distant memory. Or at least that's what I hope has happened to them. If I think any different then I won't be able to keep functioning for long.

When he reaches for the next disk, his eyes meet mine and I nod my head grimly.

"It isn't like I haven't seen it before," I say, watching as he gets up, puts the disk into the television and the words 'Fifty-eighth Hunger Games' flash up on the screen in bright red letters. The Fifty-eighth Hunger Games. Ursala's Games.

He returns to the armchair and pulls me down beside him as the image changes to show a younger Ursala take her place on a District Two stage that looks exactly the same as it still did when Everdeen and Mellark were standing there only a few short months ago. In many ways she is immediately recognisable as the woman who became my friend, but when the programme abruptly cuts to Interview Night and the camera zooms in on her face, there is nothing familiar about her eyes but their colour. The Ursala I know has haunted eyes, eyes that only truly light up when she talks of her beloved Velia, but this girl-Ursala has vicious, arrogant eyes that fit perfectly with the glare she sends her fellow tributes as the platforms rise up and the Games begin for real.

The Career Alliance broke down early that year, with most of them ending up on Ursala's Kill List when her district partner decides to fight and she decides to show how she can throw knives nearly as well as Clove Jacia, who everyone universally agrees was the best knife thrower the Hunger Games has ever seen. Not that it did her much good. She still died.

By the time the last tribute falls, a small boy from District Eleven who dies with a knife in his heart and a whispered 'I'm sorry' in his ear, I'm leaning forwards in the chair and I have to link my hands together to stop them from shaking. Those final words were spoken by a girl who looks considerably more like the Ursala I know, and yet the next image on the screen shows a different version again, a young woman in a bright red dress, short and low cut, with her black hair cascading in waves over the flawless olive skin of her shoulders.

"But her eyes are the same now," I whisper to Gloss, who immediately turns to face me. "Now she's broken."

He hugs me tightly before getting up and switching the film off, taking the disk out and putting it in another pile.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No," I say, although when I recall who is next in the running order, I almost change my mind.

Marchessa Denoro from District Three is well-known for being one of the smartest people in the whole of Panem, and she certainly used her intelligence to survive the arena. I watch with almost morbid fascination as tribute after clueless, unsuspecting tribute succumbs to the trap she manages to construct with little more than a piece of wire and a slightly rusty looking crossbow until finally the trumpets sound for her victory. Her competitors never suspect her and I'm not surprised because she looks far from deadly, but when she kills it's with a cold, clinical, calculating precision that easily rivals that of virtually any of the so-called Career Tributes.

"Don't underestimate that one if it's her who's chosen," I say, pretending to tell Gloss when really I'm telling myself.

If I'm going to die then I don't want it to be at the hands of someone like Marchessa. But then when I think about it again, I decide I'd actually rather it be her chosen for the Quell than Wiress. The thought of killing someone like Wiress makes me remember what it felt like to hold my blade as it sunk into Elsah's poor, defenceless body, and I don't think I could live with that for a second time.

"Not many people would be stupid enough to underestimate her now," he replies, switching the disks again.

I've seen Enobaria's Games more than virtually any other because there's no avoiding it really. If the Capitolian television producers use images from the Games then the Sixtieth is one of the most popular choices. Violence sells in this place, there's never been a shortage of bloodlust here, and there was definitely no shortage of blood in that tiny, enclosed arena. I've seen images of Enobaria killing her fellow tributes for almost as long as I can remember.

"I don't think we need reminding of how deadly that one is," I tell Gloss before the commentator has even finished discussing the first day's bloodbath.

He moves on to the Sixty-first Games and another District Two victory. Tiberius. My instinct is to tell Gloss to stop the disk, because like Enobaria's Games, I've seen this one more than most as well, but for some reason the words don't come. I watch with my brother as Tiberius first fights a man who can only be from District Four and then continues to fight anyone who crosses his path until the Games are eventually over what the commentator says is a week later.

The only weapons provided are huge maces that a lot of the untrained tributes can't even lift, but Tiberius carries his around like it weighs nothing. When he finds one of the smaller and younger tributes, he drops the mace to the floor and kills them without it, a quick and I imagine relatively painless death despite their tears and screams. Ursala says he's a good man really, and when I see that, I almost start to believe her. He could have made them suffer unimaginably before he killed them but he didn't, and that's got to mean something.

"There's not much point going later," says Gloss as he scans the disks scattered around in front of him. "I think we remember the rest well enough."

I nod, watching how he pushes the recording of the Sixty-fifth Games to the bottom of the pile when he thinks I'm not looking. I say nothing. I don't want to watch it either. And besides, I don't need to watch it because I can remember every last minute like it happened yesterday. I'll never forget Finnick Odair's tactics and how he killed when my mind replays it all in my nightmares.

"Earlier then?" I reply. "It's better to watch the ones we don't remember so clearly."

I can tell from the look in his eyes that he's thinking about Sapphire as well, and he doesn't resist when I pull him back onto the chair and begin to sort through the disks myself.

"How about Viola Stafford? She's a certainty," he suggests.

Just like I am, I think, but I obviously don't say that aloud and shrug my shoulders instead. "She only won because she was the best at hiding. She couldn't fight when she was a tribute so she won't be able to fight now."

"So we watch the ones who will be real threats?" he says, reaching forwards and passing me the disk marked with a '35'.

"Just in case," I reply, hoping it isn't obvious how the words catch in my throat.

After Vikus's Games, we watch the crowning of virtually every Victor who could possibly be a threat in the arena this time around. It's a depressingly long list because there aren't all that many of them who won by accident. As I said to Falco, there will be no Elsahs and Octavians this time. This time they've all killed before and when it comes down to it, whatever they're thinking now, I know most of them will want to live so they'll kill again if they have to.

It's dark by the time the recording of Beetee's Games ends and the only source of light in the room vanishes as the screen fades to black.

"Shall I put the light on?" whispers Gloss into the darkness.

I shake my head, knowing he'll feel my movement even though he can barely see me. Then I curl up against him and he instinctively wraps his arms around me, just like he always has.

"It won't be you, Cash," he breathes as he pushes my hair away from my eyes. "The odds are more in your favour than virtually anyone else. One in eight. Only District Two have got less chance of being chosen."

I find his hand and squeeze it tightly, grateful I didn't tell him to put the light on. It's a lot easier to lie to him in the dark when he can't see my face.

* * *

><p>Before I know it, days have turned into weeks and I've still heard nothing from the Capitol. Talk of the Quarter Quell fills the television screens and the newspapers and there have even been a few mandatory programmes linking the events of the Dark Days and the first rebellion to the Quell that is to come, however I haven't had to leave District One and nobody has been to see me. There is a month to go before the reaping and I still haven't told Gloss my secret.<p>

"Cashmere, hurry up!" he calls, shouting up the stairs. "I thought you were the one who wanted to go out in the first place."

I continue to stare at my reflection in my dressing table mirror, taking out the clip that was holding my hair back despite how I've spent the past half an hour putting it there. It's true what Gloss says, I had been the one who suggested we should go for a walk to the main square, but now the time has come to actually leave, I find I've changed my mind. I've been trying to maintain a pretence of normality for his sake, but the thought of facing the eyes and ears of the district fills me with dread.

"Cashmere!"

I sigh deeply and shake my head rapidly so my hair settles where it should before getting up and striding from the room before I can change my mind. Once I reach the landing I can look over the balcony to see Gloss gazing up at me, a concerned look on his face that tells me I'm not doing as good a job at hiding things from him as I hoped to. It isn't the first time I've thought that and I'm not surprised he sees it. As I told Falco when I first found out what my fate would be, I can't hide things from my brother easily.

"The shops will have closed, sister dearest," he tells me teasingly as we leave the house.

"But the reporters and the cameras will remain," I reply dryly.

"We can go back inside if you want to. I thought you wanted to go out?"

"I did. I do. Come on," I say, taking his hand and dragging him along the path out of the Victor's Village. I'll probably be leaving here for the last time in a month so I should really see as much of it as I can.

* * *

><p>Once the initial excitement at our presence has passed, we are more or less left alone, when we're inside shops at least. There is always someone who looks at us like they want to question us and find out the latest gossip and scandal, but the glare on Gloss's face is enough to make them stay away. Or at least I think it's Gloss. When I laughingly tell him, he laughs as well and suggests that I should look in a mirror. I don't do that, but when I see my reflection in the window of one of the buildings in the main square, I realise I'm becoming the Cashmere who went into the arena without even knowing it. I shudder and try to smile, but even my fake Capitol smile doesn't come as easily as it used to.<p>

"What's all that about?" asks Gloss, nodding in the direction of a crowd gathered in front of the Town Hall.

I shrug my shoulders and edge closer, trying to avoid the notice of the mob at the same time. I hear Satin's voice, politely requesting that she is allowed some space with a hint of steel in her tone that even the Capitolians back away from. And that's when I see why they're there. We have visitors from the big city, a group of officials escorting a woman in the purple robes of a Gamemaker.

"What are they doing here, Gloss?" I whisper, the sight of the Gamemaker making me lose what little self-control I've managed to build up and preserve since my interview with the president.

"What they always do, Cash," he replies. "It might be a Quell but they still have to make sure everything's in place and as it should be for the reaping."

"Where's Satin? I heard her."

"There," he replies with a smile, speaking at the exact same moment the knot of officials moves to the side and I see her.

"Falco," I breathe, stepping forwards when he appears by Satin's side.

Gloss's hand on my arm stops me briefly but then I step forwards again. Falco does the same until we stand less than a stride away from each other before the Town Hall, totally surrounded by Capitol officials and completely at a loss for what to say.

"What are you doing here?" he asks eventually, clearly trying to ignore the way they're all staring at us.

"Shopping," I reply feebly, lifting up the bag I'm still carrying. "Not that there's much point."

"Don't talk like that," he hisses fiercely. Then he looks around at our audience, taking in expressions which range from curious to disapproving to downright disgusted, and smiles that smile he seems to save for those he especially dislikes. "I've been doing this job for years so I know what to do. I'm sure you can cope without me now."

I temporarily stop breathing when he takes my hand in full view of everyone and begins to lead me back across the square.

"Falco, you can't," I say frantically, still following him anyway. "We can't."

"Why not? The only person we were hiding from already knows. Our sentence has already been decided," he replies, holding my hand even tighter and pulling me closer as we continue to walk along. "And I don't care what any of those fools think."

"But where are we going?"

I look behind me to see all of the officials watching us go, now looking more shocked than anything else. Gloss has climbed the steps to stand beside Satin, and when my eyes meet his, he nods once and turns back to our sister. When she starts speaking I realise she's trying to detract attention from me and I have to look away. Even after all the time that's passed, I'm still surprised by how much I've come to love her and how proud I am to be her sister.

"Here," says Falco, pulling my attention back to him as he drags me into the bakery.

It's the most expensive one in the district where all of the Capitolian visitors go, and also where Gloss goes to get the pastries I love so much. Just the smell of the place makes me think of him, and I turn around again, trying to look back at the Town Hall. Both Gloss and Satin and all of the visitors have vanished.

I watch as Falco proceeds to select a massive selection of food that I don't see how we'll be able to eat and then asks the baker to put it all in a basket, never once letting go of my hand.

"Why are you here, Falco?" I ask, subconsciously pulling him towards the path to the park. "Why are you really here?"

"The more I thought about you, the more I couldn't stay away," he replies, but though I wait, expecting him to continue, he doesn't say another word until we've returned to the hidden clearing we came to last time he was here.

"You'll make it worse for yourself though. If…people back in the Capitol hear about this then you'll be in trouble. Won't you?" I add, daring him to deny it.

"Nothing he could do would be worse than what he's already done," he whispers, pulling me into his arms and leaning against the tree as we both sit down. "I've thought of so many things, Butterfly. I've thought of putting you on a hovercraft and sending you to Thirteen, of leaving the Capitol and stealing you from here in the middle of the night. I've even thought of trying to hide you in the Capitol. I could do it, I think, for a short time until I think of something else."

"Even if you could, I wouldn't leave Gloss, you know that. And you couldn't, however much we both want it. I'm for the arena and there's nothing we can do about it. I've been training," I say in a small voice. "You'll be proud of me, before I…before the end…"

"Stop it!" he shouts, spinning me around and pinning me to the ground, his eyes so close to mine that I have no choice but to look at him. "Don't you dare talk like that in front of me. You're not going to die. I won't let you. Do you hear me? I won't let you."

"I don't think I'll get a choice," I whisper when he finally lets me up.

I lean against him again, putting my legs across his lap so I'm even closer. He holds me tight but pretends he didn't hear what I said.

"We can probably work out who you'll have to fight," he says, suddenly businesslike again. "Some of them at least."

"How? Apart from the obvious where there's only one choice."

"Think about it. Snow's never had a better opportunity to get rid of those he wants rid of," he replies, taking my hand in his when he speaks. "He'll use the Quell to his advantage as much as he possibly can."

"And who does he want rid of?"

"Some are obvious. The ones sympathetic to the cause. It'll be Beetee not Johan, Wiress and not Marchessa."

"That man from Seven who won years and years ago?" I suggest. "Wasn't it rumoured that he was behind some…unrest there?" Falco nods and then something else occurs to me. "What about Four?"

"You know the answer to that, Butterfly. The Capitol loves him, yet he's a suspected rebel sympathiser, in Snow's eyes anyway. He knows what he's done to that man has given him more than a reason. And Odair has the added side bonus that he killed your sister and you're going into the same arena."

"Finnick Odair knows about the rebellion?" I ask incredulously, suddenly only able to focus on this tiny but world-changing piece of information. "He can't know. He can't."

"He's got more reason to want to fight than a lot of people," he answers. "Even you can't deny that. I only just found out myself but apparently he's been reporting back to Heavensbee for months and months, maybe even years."

"I don't care. He killed Sapphire."

"I know," he replies, "but the new revolution's up to something. Something to do with District Twelve."

"Still? Does Heavensbee still think the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight is going to fuel the rebellion? She's going into the arena for Panem's sake. There's no way she'll be allowed to live."

"He still thinks he's found something in her. And she might be going into the arena again but martyrs have their uses at times like this. I know him well enough to know he'll have a plan for her regardless of whether she lives or dies."

And what will I be if I die? A martyr for the rebellion or just another dead Career Tribute? Everyone will remember the Girl On Fire but who will remember me?

"What plan?"

"I don't know. I was trying to find out but the Capitol's gone crazy. People with reason to be are scared their own shadows will betray them to the Peacekeepers and people who don't even think about such things are throwing parties to celebrate the Quell already. Whatever The Gamemaker's planning, he's keeping it to himself."

"Do you know anything about…the other? Has anyone said anything about the arena?"

He sighs sadly and grips me tighter. "You'd have more chance of persuading Snow to hand power over to District Thirteen than finding out about the Quell. Hardly anyone knows anything. He knows how many connections the Victors have so nobody knows."

I say nothing. I'd already guessed that would happen and I'm not sure I'd want to know anyway. It's not as if I have the time to prepare for it so perhaps ignorance is better.

"Will you do something for me?" I ask him eventually.

"Anything."

"Stay here with me for a while and forget about the Quell. Pretend none of it exists, that there's no arena and no white roses and no Capitol."

"That all of the newspapers have a headline announcing the death of Snow and the cancellation of the Games. That trade links between the districts are being set up and the people of Panem can travel wherever they want, train for whatever job they wish and marry whoever they choose."

"And would you marry me?"

"I'd marry you and take you across Panem, beyond the boundaries of all of the districts to somewhere far away so nobody could find us unless we wanted them to."

"Give it a week and you'd be bored," I tease, smiling at the image his words have made me see in my mind.

"Give it a week and you'd be sending to Felix for hair shampoo and looking for the nearest clothes shop."

I hit him and we both laugh, recognising what we both said as the truth.

"Do you have to go back?"

"Later," he replies.

* * *

><p>'Later' actually ends up being a lot later, and a night and another day pass before we finally leave the clearing and return to reality. Even after all that time I didn't want to go. I could have stayed there with Falco forever, I would have stayed hidden from what is to come if I could. Because this time next month I'll be on my way to the arena and I'm scared. I'm scared and I don't want to die.<p> 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

I walk along the streets of the main square and there are too many people. I walk around the park and there aren't enough. No matter where I go, I always wish I was somewhere else as soon as I get there. When there's noise I crave silence and when I have silence I crave noise. I can't win. There is no escape because my thoughts never leave me. This time tomorrow I'll be on my way to the Capitol. This time in nine days I'll be in the arena. If I'm lucky. If I'm not then my cannon will have already fired.

It was easy to keep my secret from Gloss to start with, or if not easy then at least it was bearable. I was doing it for his own good, and because of that I was able to maintain the pretence. I could keep lying to him because it was keeping him from harm. That was and still is all that matters to me. And anyway, I wasn't lying to him, I was just omitting to tell him the truth. That's not the same.

But now when the reaping is so close and Falco is still far from me, more than anything I want to run to my little brother for comfort like I always have in the past. I don't know what to do now I can't. And because I can't, I end up wandering the streets, searching for an escape route that will never exist.

* * *

><p>Finally, when I've been virtually everywhere else I can think of that won't be frequented by Capitolian reporters, who have descended upon District One in droves in anticipation of tomorrow's reaping, I find myself walking the familiar path to the training house. Everything seems deserted and exactly how Gloss and I left it yesterday, but as I walk across the gymnasium, an unmistakeable voice somehow seems to echo all around me so it's coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.<p>

"I knew you'd come here eventually," calls Satin as she steps out from behind a pile of old boxes.

"What are you doing here, Satin? Don't you have to make sure everything's ready for tomorrow?"

"I thought I could help you practice," she replies, her tone of voice leaving me unsure if she's mocking me or mocking herself. Or perhaps she just doesn't know what else to say.

"I can't fight you," I call back, eyeing the practice sword she has in her hand.

I watch her intently as she swings it back and forth with the slight awkwardness I remember from many years ago. She's taller, broader, and simply generally bigger than me in virtually every physical way possible, exactly like she always was. She got Mother's colouring and Father's build, whereas I was the other way around. We've no idea who Gloss takes after. He just looks like Gloss, and that thought makes me smile slightly as my sister answers me back.

"Why not?"

"Because I could defeat you when you were eighteen and I was thirteen and nothing's changed. But unlike back then, now I don't want to hurt you."

"You _are_ hurting me, little sister. You know something that you're not telling anyone, I know you do. And it's hurting me because it's hurting Gloss."

"There's nothing wrong with Gloss. Not anything that isn't caused by the prospect of tomorrow anyway."

She stares back at me without speaking for several minutes before walking forwards, the high-heeled shoes she's wearing clicking on the floor with every stride. That's when I know for sure that she isn't here to practice fighting, but that doesn't stop her from raising the sword and resting its blunt-edged tip on my collar bone when I don't move away.

"You're lying to me, Cashmere de Montfort. You've been lying and lying for months."

"I'm lying because I can't tell you the truth," I reply, not seeing the point in denying it. "I can't. I can't tell anyone."

"It's about the Quell, isn't it?" she says, taking a step closer but not lowering the sword.

"You couldn't actually hurt me with that, you know that, don't you?"

"Tell me," she commands, somehow managing to sound like she does when she's talking to Victory sometimes and yet sound totally different at the same time.

"I can't!"

I spin away from her and sprint across the room before throwing myself to the floor and curling up on a pile of mats by the window. Satin follows behind at a much more sedately pace. I think she knows as well as I do that if I truly didn't want to tell her the secret it feels like I've kept for all eternity then I'd never have stopped running.

"Falco knows, doesn't he? You were both different when he was here. Half the district saw you going around together. I had to tell them it was Games business but you were with each other so much that I don't think many of them were convinced."

"It doesn't matter," I reply, half-smiling at the memory of those couple of days Falco and I spent together here last month, those couple of days where we didn't have to hide. "The president knows."

"About Falco?"

I nod. "He's always known, Satin," I say, everything coming out in a rush now I've started. "And he's sending me back into the arena to punish me for defying him."

"But how? We have seven other living female Victors. Chances are that it won't be your name that's drawn tomorrow."

"You're not that naïve," I reply bitterly. "How many times have you seen the relative of a Victor end up going to the Capitol? How many brothers and sisters and daughters and sons have paid the price for that Victor beating the system and winning the Games? Don't tell me you don't know the reaping's rigged because I know how much you fear for Victory."

"But that means…"

"Yes, Satin," I whisper, speaking in a voice so low that she has to lean towards me to hear. "Tomorrow morning at half-past eight, Falco will draw my name from the reaping ball and I will be back on the tribute train. Chances are that I won't live to see my next birthday."

"And Gloss doesn't know?"

"Of course not. He still thinks there's a seven in eight chance that I'll be spared. And if you tell him otherwise then it'll kill him. Or he'll do something stupid like volunteer. So I'm begging you not to."

"He'll find out for himself soon enough," she says, although I can hear the doubts creeping into her voice at my mention of him volunteering. "You should at least talk to him. Prepare him for what's going to happen."

"I can really see that one," I reply, shaking my head. "How did you get on at training today, little brother? Oh, by the way, it's a total certainty that my name will be drawn from the reaping ball tomorrow because the president wants me dead. Do you really think that's something I can prepare him for?"

"No," she says quietly, sitting down beside me, sword still in hand. "But you need him as much as he needs you."

"I need him alive and whole. If I tell him then he won't ever be that again. And as you've said yourself so many times, I'm selfish, Satin. I don't want my last memory of home to be of watching Gloss shatter into a thousand pieces."

"And you think that won't happen live on television for the whole nation to see when your name is called tomorrow? There'll be no race for the stage this time, Cashmere, and it's ladies first, you know that. If he tries to volunteer then you won't be able to stop him."

"He wouldn't be so stupid unless he has time to think about it. His first instinct will be to become my mentor, it has to be. If it isn't then it's all over."

She looks thoughtfully at me before shrugging her shoulders. "I hope you're right then. Because if you're not then I'll probably end up losing both of you. And as much as that thought might have been quite appealing ten years ago, I don't want that to happen."

She drops the sword to the ground then but doesn't move away. If anything she moves closer, staring unblinkingly at me with eyes almost identical to our brother's.

"Look after him for me," I whisper, starting to turn away.

"Stop that," she says, grabbing my upper arms and making me look at her. "You won the Games once, you can do it again. You're that bloody stubborn that it'll take more than the arena to end you, Cashmere de Montfort."

"But I'm not, Satin, not really. I'm not what people think I am. It's just a mask. Inside I'm weak and afraid and I feel so small."

"I don't want to hear it," she says, her tone harsh and firm but her eyes soft and sad. "You're a de Montfort. You're my sister. So you'll go out there with your mask back on and your head held high. You'll fight and you'll win because there's no way in Panem that I'm going to let you make me have to tell my little girl why her favourite aunt isn't coming home."

"I'm her only aunt, Satin," I reply, but her words have the effect she clearly desired because I can't stop myself from smiling. "But you're not the first person to tell me to fight."

"I didn't think for a second that I would be. You're arrogant, selfish, irrepressibly vain and have a superiority complex to rival virtually anyone in the Capitol, but for some reason people still love you. I still love you. But I'll hate you forever if you give up."

"And here was me just getting used to you even going as far as to like me."

"Shut it, little sister," she says, before continuing in a very different tone of voice. "Will you come back home with me?"

I nod and follow her out of the house I spent so much of my childhood in, looking back at it for what I know might be the last time. She offers me her arm in a way that instantly reminds me of Sapphire despite how my other sister would have linked her arm through mine without asking, and I eventually take it. For the first time in our lives, my elder sister and I walk down the street so close together that our hips almost touch.

* * *

><p>Before we got here, Gloss and I were certain that we were going to spend the night before the reaping in our own house in the Victor's Village, but when Satin told us we could stay if we wanted, I couldn't find any words of protest and neither could my brother. When it really comes down to it, the Capitol gave my family this house because the de Montfort fortune, such as it is, was built with big city money, but this place feels like ours, like part of me. The house in the Victor's Village still feels Capitol, and it's always been tainted with memories of the Games and what happened after.<p>

That is how I find myself huddled close to Gloss on the bed that had been his when he was a child. His is the only room which has remained unchanged since I called this house my home because my father dismantled everything in mine when I won the Games. Sapphire's didn't even last until the Capitol returned her body after she fell, but if it had then I suspect we'd have been in there.

However for some reason, Satin's left Gloss's room untouched for all these years. She says Victory likes to sleep in here, but we both know that's a lie, or at least not the whole truth. This has been Satin's house since long before Victory was born.

"Gloss, are you awake?" I whisper into the almost darkness, fearing to look at the clock on the bedside table but turning towards it anyway. It's nearly three in the morning.

I get no response and I'm glad, partly because I'm happy to actually see him in something that resembles a peaceful sleep and partly because the secret I've kept for so long is now such a presence in my mind that it feels like a third person in the room with us. I know deep inside that if he wakes before dawn then I won't be able to stop myself from telling him what will happen in the square. Which is why I have to move.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed ever so slowly in a pointless attempt not to disturb him. I say pointless because he's been in the arena and that isn't something a person can forget. Since he became a Victor, it doesn't take much to wake him.

"Go back to sleep, Gloss," I whisper when he stirs and half opens his eyes. "I'll be back in a minute."

He turns back over and does as I say once he realises it's only me who disturbed him and has remembered where we are. After one final look back at him, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, silent on my bare feet as I wrap a robe tightly around myself over my nightdress. It might be the height of summer but it's still cold at this time of the morning.

I sit at the table, staring up at the moon through the huge window and trying not to think about where I'll be in a few short hours time. It doesn't take long for the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs to reach me, and before I can decide if I want to leave before I'm seen or not, Victory is standing in the doorway, gazing at me curiously.

"Why aren't you asleep, Aunt Cashmere?"

"I could ask you the same question, young lady."

"Mother says I'm not a lady. She says I'm an urchin who sometimes looks like a lady," she replies, staring up at me innocently as she pulls the massively too-big jumper she's wearing back onto her narrow shoulders. I recognise it because I last saw it on Gloss.

"Your mother's a wise woman," I tell her, trying to be stern so she'll go away and failing dismally. I don't really want her to go and she somehow seems to sense it.

I push my chair back from the table, suddenly remembering something I'd thought of earlier, but my niece interprets my action very differently. Before I can stand, she darts forwards and uses the back of my chair to pull herself up onto my lap. She immediately unties my fleece robe and snuggles against me before I have chance to feel the cold, wrapping the warm fabric back around both of us.

I expect this is where I should say something, but I'm suddenly speechless. I'm too awestruck to move. This tiny girl trusts me so completely. She lies on my lap and she has absolutely no comprehension of who I really am. The hands that rest on her back are the hands of a killer, and the thought that it won't be long before she knows it hurts more than I ever dreamed it would.

"Victory, are you awake?"

She mumbles drowsily in response, shuffling around so she can look up at me through curtains of long dark hair.

"I'm going to have to go away for a while tomorrow," I tell her shakily, crying all the more when she raises a hand to wipe my tears from my cheeks. "And I don't know when I'll be coming back. So I want you to look after your Uncle Gloss for me. And don't let him be sad."

"Where are you going?"

"To the Capitol."

"You always go there."

"It's different this time, Vic. I did something bad so President Snow doesn't like me very much. He's making me play the Game again, the one I played before you were born."

"But you'll come back soon," she replies. "You did before. Mother said so."

"Maybe not for a long time," I tell her, wiping my own tears away this time. "But you'll get used to me not being here."

"What did you do? You're not bad, Aunt Cashmere. Do you want me to tell him you're good? I'll tell him, really I will. I know we're not supposed to question him, but I'd just be telling him. It's the truth so he'll believe me. Then he might let you stay."

I pull her tightly against me, rocking her as I cry until I finally have no more tears left.

"I fell in love with a man," I tell her eventually, not really expecting her to understand but suddenly feeling a desperate urge to tell someone. "A good man who shouldn't have even looked at someone like me. President Snow didn't like it so he's punishing me. But that's a secret, Victory. Something you must never tell anyone. Not ever."

"Not even Mother and Daddy?"

"Not unless there's nobody else with you. And you must never tell Uncle Gloss. Promise me. You have to promise me."

"I promise," she says quickly. "I promise."

"I want you to have this," I say, reaching into my pocket as I'd been intending to do when I pushed my chair back before and withdrawing the hairclip Felix gave to me before Katniss's end-of-Tour party and wouldn't let me return. "Keep it safe because it's very special. My friend Felix from the Capitol gave it to me and now I'm giving it to you."

"Is Felix the nice man I saw before? The one who gave me all those sweets when Mother wasn't looking?"

"No, that's Falco. Falco has to come away with me," I tell her, and the very thought of him makes me cry again.

"Don't cry," she says, tears welling up in her own eyes in response to mine. "You should go back to bed. Daddy always tells me I'll feel better when I've been to sleep."

I force myself to smile for her as I put the clip into the pocket at the front of her nightdress. She leans against me and I stand up, taking her with me back to Gloss. I spend the rest of the night lying on the bed beside them both, wondering what I ever did that was so bad I deserve the punishment that awaits me tomorrow.

* * *

><p>I don't sleep at all for the rest of the night, not even for a short time, and I'm watching the room gradually brighten as the sun rises when I hear the door creak.<p>

"Vic, wake up," whispers Satin, thinking Gloss and I are asleep and knowing better than to approach the bed. "Victory."

I sit up slowly so I don't disturb either my brother or the small girl who sleeps beside him, looking towards the doorway and seeing my sister's familiar figure even though it isn't light enough for me to make out her features.

"I woke up in the night and she came to sit with me."

"Something arrived for you from the Capitol," she replies, her voice still a barely audible whisper which becomes slightly louder when she senses my panic even though I'm sure she can't see my face either. "I don't mean that. It's wrapped in Grand Hall paper."

"What time is it?"

"You've got a few hours yet."

"I want to go for a walk but I'm guessing there's not much chance of that."

"I'm sorry, Cashmere. The entourage from the Capitol arrived in full force last night. And they've worked out you're both here. You won't be able to set foot outside the front door without being blinded by camera flashes and suffocated by microphones."

"I just wanted to-" I start, but I abruptly fall silent when Gloss stirs in his sleep, only breathing again when he doesn't wake. I'd been going to say that I just wanted to see District One for one last time, but the words stick in my throat and I don't speak again.

"I'll leave her here with you," says Satin before she closes the door softly behind herself. "She should sleep while she can. Before it all begins."

Gloss opens his eyes as soon as she's gone.

"You just wanted to what?"

"To get some fresh air before I have to endure the main square on reaping day," I reply, the lie coming easier than I thought it would but not easily enough to totally fool the one person in the world who knows me better than I know myself.

I expect Gloss to say something, to confront me about my lies, but he doesn't. Instead he stretches his arm towards me over the top of Victory's head and smiles when I lie back down and take his hand in mine. The sun has risen and light is streaming into the room before we even think about moving, and we only do that in response to the knock on the door.

Miracle calls to us without coming in, only stepping inside the room when I tell him we're awake. He lifts Victory off the bed, hushing her when she half wakes up, and though he nods to Gloss, he doesn't meet my eyes even once. That's when I know Satin's told him the truth of what's going to happen today.

"I'll see you there," says Gloss, pushing himself off the bed. "My reaping clothes are back at our house."

"But the reporters are everywhere," I reply, guessing that he needs time alone to prepare himself for what's to come but at the same time not wanting him to leave me.

"I think I can manage to fight my way through," he says, pretending he doesn't know I know all too well he's putting on a brave face for me.

I sigh and let him go, trying not to think about how that could have been the last time I'll ever see him alone again. But that's not true, I tell myself the next second. If they don't let him be my mentor then I'll see him in the Justice Building before the tribute train leaves. And if that happens then I suspect our parting will be more painful than any torture the president could devise.

* * *

><p>"Mother said to bring this to you," says Victory as she walks tentatively across the room towards me carrying a neatly wrapped parcel. I look at the clock and see that it's gone half past seven. "She said to tell you to remember what she said."<p>

"And why couldn't she tell me herself?" I reply, speaking to myself more than to my niece, who just looks confused by the whole situation.

"She's in her study and she won't come out. Not even when Daddy asked her."

"Go and talk to her," I suggest, taking the parcel from her and running my hand across the familiar cream and gold paper that I've seen so many times before when I've visited Felix. "I think she'll listen to you."

Victory smiles brightly and runs back the way she came, leaving me alone on the bed, hoping I did the right thing. Then I look down at the package on my lap in confusion. It has my name written on the label in Felix's careful, artistic-looking hand, but I don't understand why he's sending me things. He stopped styling for the Games when I became a Victor. I'm Auriel's responsibility now, which unfortunately means I'll probably be going to my interview wearing even less than Glimmer did.

I look at the clock again and see it's now ten minutes to eight. The more I wish time would slow down, the more it seems to speed up. Forty minutes to go. And I don't think I can do this. What will happen if I don't go? The president will order my death? He's going to do that anyway.

But then I realise I have no choice. If I go the main square and walk onto the stage when my name is called like a good, obedient Victor then Snow will kill me. If I don't then he'll kill Gloss and Falco and Satin and everyone I've ever loved or even just liked before he kills me, all so he has the satisfaction of knowing I watched them die. He'll probably even kill innocent little Victory out of spite, simply because he can. I have no option, I have to go.

When I rip the paper away, I am left with a simple but exquisitely made silk dress the colour of the sky at the height of summer. I unfold it so I can see it properly, and when I do, a note falls from it, fluttering to the floor before I can catch it. I pick it up and see it consists of only five words:

_Wear this for me. Felix._

I shower quickly and brush my hair, leaving it loose around my shoulders, before finally standing in front of the mirror and pulling the dress over my head. Only when I see my reflection do I realise what Felix has done. The dress I'm wearing is finer and more expensive than the one which obviously inspired its designer, but despite that, I still look like I did when I stood on the reaping day stage for the first time nine years ago. My outfit is almost an exact copy, right down to the matching shoes.

"Cashmere!"

My first thought is shock that it's Miracle calling me rather than Satin, but then I realise that shouldn't be surprising because my sister will probably have already left. She's the mayoress, and that means she'll have to be there on the stage as well. She'll have to introduce Falco and the reaping and read the Treaty of Treason when all the time she'll know that soon I'll be standing there beside her. Horrible though it sounds, in a way I'm comforted by the thought of how much it will hurt her, because at least that means we came to care for each other in the way that sisters are meant to. At least we worked out how to love each other in the end.

I take one final glance at my reflection, staring into eyes that match my dress almost exactly and willing the unshed tears to disappear, before turning on my heel and leaving the room without looking back. I will not cry. I will not edge slowly towards the stage with my back bent and my head down. I refuse to give President Snow the satisfaction of thinking he's broken me.

"Don't walk with me, Miracle," I tell him when I reach the hall to find my brother-in-law waiting for me. "You know I'll be mobbed as soon as I set foot outside the house. Wait for me to go and then leave."

"I'm glad I didn't marry you, Cashmere," he whispers. "I couldn't have stood the pain of watching this."

"You wouldn't have had to," I reply, trying to smile. "If you'd married me then we'd have killed each other within a week and you know it."

He smiles, perhaps recognising it as the truth as well as I do.

"Good luck."

"Thank you," I say, not letting myself add that all the luck in the world wouldn't be enough to bring me home. "And thank you for keeping that promise you made me."

"I love your sister, Cashmere. I'd never hurt her. Or our children."

"Children?"

"She was going to tell you but she couldn't do it. She thought you'd get upset," he replies, failing to suppress his smile even though he's clearly trying. "She's pregnant again."

I return his smile instinctively. "Promise me one thing," I say, fighting back the tears that trail down my cheeks for what feels like the millionth time today. "If it's a girl then don't you dare call her Cashmere."

"I won't," he replies, and this time his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "It'll be too confusing with the two of you."

I nod, allowing him his false optimism, and slowly turn the handle on the front door. I take a deep breath and step outside, closing my eyes to shield them from the inevitable camera flashes.

* * *

><p>There was a car waiting for me, and so it took only a few short minutes to reach the main square. Now as I sit looking at the vast crowd that seems to fill every available space as far as the eye can see, I want nothing more than to tell the driver to take me home. But I can't, and I don't suppose he would even if I did.<p>

I get out and the people back away when they see me, clearing a path that allows me a view right through to the stage. I don't want to look but I can't stop myself, I can't make myself turn away. Then I breathe a small sigh of relief as I bite my lip and square my shoulders so the emotion doesn't show in my expression. Falco isn't there yet.

They've cleared the area immediately in front of the stage and divided it into two sections, one for the female Victors and one for the males. Between them is a triple line of Peacekeepers, and when I look for Gloss, I can't see him through the sea of white uniforms. Perhaps that was the intention. Or perhaps they're there to stop him from causing a scene when Falco calls my name.

"You can't go in there," calls a harsh voice with more than a hint of a Capitolian accent as I take my place at the back of the enclosure with my fellow Victors, who are all huddled together as far from the stage as they can get as if they think that will make the Capitol pick someone else.

"If you want her there then I'll have to," is the fierce response from a young woman with the familiar accent of home. "She can't exactly walk without me."

"You won't be able to go into the arena with her if her name's called, will you?" replies the Capitolian emotionlessly.

I turn to see one of the more senior Peacekeepers standing over a woman about my age, and when I see the elderly lady she's supporting, I instantly recognise both of them. Iridescence, District One's oldest living Victor, and her youngest granddaughter. I went to school with Emerald and she was always quiet and subdued, but there is nothing quiet and subdued about the look in her eyes now.

There is some debate amongst the Peacekeepers then, and eventually Emerald is allowed to remain, with her on one side of the rope divide and her grandmother on the other. They're such a pitiful sight that I have to look away, even though I know Iridescence de Quincy will be able to hobble away from here shortly in her own little world and that her granddaughter won't have to say goodbye.

When I look away my eyes fall upon Lace, the woman who was meant to be my mentor when I was a tribute for the first time. She glares back at me, silently telling me that she hasn't changed her opinion and still hates me as much as she always did.

The fear inside this small enclosure is so apparent it's almost visible, and as I look around, I realise I was the last Victor to arrive. The others are already there, standing as far from each other as they can without having to step towards the stage and trying not to let their terror show. It's ironic that I'm the one who should feel terror and all I can really feel is nothing. My hands are shaking and my stomach is turning never-ending somersaults, but my mind is numb. However hard I try, I can't seem to make myself feel anything but blind panic.

I turn to my right to look at the Peacekeepers again, imagining that I can see Gloss beyond them. I want to call out to him, to hear him reply so I know he's there in mind as well as in body, but my throat is as fuzzy as my mind and I can't make myself speak.

Then I don't get chance to as the fanfare of trumpets sounds. Satin appears at the top of the stone staircase and begins the long walk down to the stage, and when she's descended three steps, Falco appears above her in the midst of at least ten other Capitol officials.

The sight of him, of the mixture of anger and grief on his face which I can clearly see even though he's obviously trying to hide it, is enough to make me relinquish my position at the back of the enclosure and rush to the front. I'd run to the stage if I could. I've got to go there anyway, there's no escaping that, and I hate the thought of him being alone when he has to draw my name from the reaping ball.

His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before he looks away. If I were in his place then I doubt I'd be able to go on with this farce in the first place, but I know my self-control would vanish without a trace if I were to have to look at him as well. So instead of looking at him, I look at the reaping balls. My first big mistake.

Usually they're both overflowing. None of the relatively poor children whose parents have menial jobs at the workshops fear to take tesserae because they can't imagine a time where there won't be the race to the stage and the rush to volunteer. But this year there are only a few pieces of paper in each. Six in the right and eight in the left. I know instinctively that every one of the eight has my name written on it.

The massive clock on the front of the Justice Building chimes once for half past eight and Satin steps forwards, her movements mechanical, like she's a robot rather than a person. She reads the speech that tells the history of Panem like all of the mayors before her have done for seventy-five years, speaking of the Dark Days and the Treaty of Treason and the glory of the Capitol. Her acting skills don't let her down, and though her hands shake so much she has to rest them on the lectern in front of her, her voice is steady and even.

She then goes on to talk about the history of the Games, of our district's previous victors and the fact that this year is a Quarter Quell year. When she explains what this means, her voice finally quavers slightly, and by the time she announces that the tributes will be chosen from amongst the Victors, she's clinging to her lectern like her life depends on it.

As Falco takes centre stage I feel like I'm somewhere far away, looking down on myself and the reaping like it doesn't involve me at all. His hand is shaking so much that he has to pause and take a deep breath before he can manage to reach inside the reaping ball, and before he selects a slip of paper, he looks out into the crowd directly at me. Then, almost in slow motion, he starts to take his hand away, letting the paper fall back to the bottom. His emotionless expression doesn't change but I can see what he's about to do. And he can't. He mustn't.

I step forwards and out of the corner of my eye, I see Satin do the same. It seems I'm not the only one who knows the consequences of refusing to play the president's game. I nod fiercely in Falco's direction and he reaches into the reaping ball again, taking out a piece of paper and unfolding it quickly. He drops it before he's really had chance to look at it and it catches in the wind, blowing across the square in the direction of the crowd.

By the time he calls my name I've already started to lift the rope barrier so I can step underneath it. The audience gasp as I approach the stage with solid, even steps, ignoring the commotion behind me because I know what's causing it without having to look. And I know that if I look then I'll fall apart.

"Cashmere!" shouts Gloss, his voice echoing around the somehow totally silent square.

Nobody says a word as I climb the steps to stand beside my sister, willing Gloss to stop struggling as the Peacekeepers do everything they can to keep him in the enclosure. Eventually it's Marius who restrains him, talking to him constantly as he pins his arms behind his back so he can't fight. However whatever he says seems to hold my brother's attention so he suddenly doesn't want to, and I watch as he finally stands still, listening intently.

As Falco moves towards the other reaping ball, the silence is deafening. Not even the visiting Capitolians do so much as breathe.

Then the crowd gasps again as Falco backs away, dropping the piece of paper he's just pulled from the other reaping ball like it's hot enough to burn straight through his hand. One of the other Capitolians steps forwards to retrieve it, raising it up to the light as everyone waits in silent and still anticipation. I look down at the male enclosure in startled confusion as Gloss pulls away from Marius and reaches for the rope barrier, his expression sad but determined.

"Gloss de Montfort!" calls the Capitolian, and the crowd gasps for a third time, much louder this time.

I stumble instantly and all that stops me from falling to my knees is Satin, who grasps my arm and holds me upright even though I can feel her trembling as well. This can't be happening. He can't go into the arena again. He can't. Not Gloss. I'd do anything. Not Gloss. Please not Gloss.

He stares straight ahead at a point somewhere far above the roof of the Justice Building as he keeps walking. I might not be able to tear my gaze from his face but he doesn't look at me, not even once. Not until he has climbed the stairs and takes his first step onto the stage. Then our eyes meet and my legs lose their ability to bear my weight once again.

"Be strong, little sister," whispers Satin as she continues to support me. "Don't let them see how much it hurts."

My intention is to tell her that I can't, but the only sound I'm capable of making is a strangled cry, like some kind of wounded animal begging for the pain to stop. I pull away from her and fly across the stage to Gloss, and he wraps me tightly in his arms, lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the centre of the stage. I look out at the other Victors gathered in the enclosure before the stage, silently pleading for a volunteer, but nobody moves or even meets my eyes. And then it's suddenly too late.

The Capitolian who called my brother's name announces us to the crowd and then the anthem begins to play but I barely hear it. I cling to Gloss until my fingers begin to cramp and still I refuse to let go even slightly. He buries his hands in my hair and kisses the top of my head, whispering words I can't make out over the noise of the music and the people talking all around us.

"It wasn't supposed to be you," I repeat over and over again. "It wasn't supposed to be you as well."

"Shh," he says. "I'll get you out of this, Cashy. I won't ever let them hurt you."

I'm about to reply to him, to tell him that he'll be the one who lives, that I'll be going into the arena with the intention of defending him until my last breath and that I'll never let him die, but I don't get chance. The Peacekeepers who had surrounded the enclosures have spread out to disperse the slightly mutinous looking crowd and the ones who had been on the stage step forwards to escort us away.

I feel Falco's hand on my back as he tells me he's sorry so many times that his words blur into one, and I pull away from Gloss just enough so I can turn to look at him, to tell him it wasn't his fault. But then the Peacekeepers approach and one of them closes his hand around my arm. I scream for them to stop when Gloss lashes out, sending the white-uniformed man flying backwards, and then grips me so hard I can't breathe.

A loud screech fills my ears as two black cars skid to a halt in front of the stage.

"New rules," says the senior Peacekeeper who had been so cruel to Iridescence's granddaughter as he gestures sharply towards them. "Straight to the tribute train."

"Satin," I whisper, looking around for my sister, desperate to at least say goodbye.

She's standing at the foot of the stage, her eyes dry but full of grief, and together Gloss and I walk down to her with Falco following close behind us.

"I'll send him back to you," I promise her, and at exactly the same time Gloss whispers the same words. The only difference is that he substitutes 'him' for 'her'.

I can't do this. I can't. I jerk back towards the car as if I think there's a chance I can run away from this, but I stop before I can get inside when I see a movement out of the corner of my eye and recognise Miracle's voice as he calls out his daughter's name.

"Uncle Gloss!" cries Victory, darting away from her father and past the Peacekeepers to jump into my brother's arms, wrapping her own tiny arms around his neck when he tries to push her away. "Uncle Gloss, you can't go! Aunt Cashmere said I have to look after you but I can't if you go!"

I see first the confusion and then the beginning of understanding in his expression as he turns to look straight at me and I duck my head in shame. I only did it to protect him but now look at us.

"Get that child away from here," says the senior Peacekeeper, reaching towards Victory as she shrinks away in fear.

"Lay even a single finger on that girl and I'll kill you," snarls Satin, shoving past everyone to claim her little girl with a look in her eyes that would put any District Two tribute to shame.

Then I'm pushed into the car and Gloss is pushed in after me before I can protest. I call out for Falco but the door has already been closed behind us and the next thing I know we're speeding off towards the station. I hold onto Gloss and I don't let go.

I should be terrified of going back into the arena. I should be raging at the man who put me in this position, at the society he leads and all of the atrocities it condones. But I'm not thinking anything like that. Because all I can think is that at least I have something to die for. Dying to save my little brother's life is better than dying for nothing, and die I will, because Gloss has to live. That's the only thing that matters now. Gloss has to live.

* * *

><p><em>It's taken me a long time to get this far but I've managed it. Not the nicest chapter to write but I hope I did it justice... Feel free to review ;) <em>


	20. Chapter 20

_It's early so I hope you all see this! I'm going away for a few days so I won't be able to reply straight away but don't let that put you off talking to me because I'll get your reviews/messages when I get back... _

Chapter Twenty

The journey to the station passes by in a blur. All I can remember of it once I've been bundled past the crowds of people who've gathered to watch the latest spectacle in the ongoing saga of the Hunger Games and onto the tribute train is holding onto Gloss as if I'm never going to let go. My brother doesn't say a word either to me or to the reporters who continue to call out questions long after the cabin doors have been firmly closed behind us. He doesn't speak at all, and his face is an expressionless mask.

"Gloss?" I whisper as the train finally begins to pull away from the station. "Gloss? Gloss, talk to me, please. Say something."

He sighs and walks across the cabin, soon collapsing onto one of the chairs by the window. I can hear people moving around next door but to my relief, nobody appears. Obviously none of them dare to disturb us at a time like this, not even Falco, and certainly not our so-called mentors. After the Gamemakers decided the Victor-tributes will be mentored by those who made the journey to the Capitol with them last time if possible, for me that means Lace. And I have no desire to see her.

I stare across at Gloss, not letting my eyes drift for even a fraction of a second, and slowly the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. Me or Gloss. Gloss or Me. Gloss or neither of us. Both of us are going back into the arena. Together. And they won't let last year be repeated. This is the Hunger Games and the Hunger Games only has one winner.

As the train quickly gathers speed and we head towards the Capitol, Gloss's eyes finally meet mine. Once he looks at me, he doesn't look away.

Over the past three months I've managed to almost convince myself I've accepted the fact I'll be a tribute in the Quell, but this is too much and I still can't quite believe it's real. This is Gloss. This is my little brother who used to sleep beside me even when we were little more than babies, lying so close that our foreheads almost touched. Or so Satin says anyway. I obviously don't remember, but I know that the thought of watching him die is many times more painful than the thought of my own death.

"How long have you known, Cash?" he asks eventually, his voice barely audible over the noise of the train.

I shake my head and approach him, moving slowly as if I'm actually scared of him for the first time ever. But I'm not. I might fear his reaction but I don't fear him. I never could.

"Long enough," I reply, finally deciding to perch on the arm of his chair as I force myself to look at him rather than at my hands, which I link together and rest carefully on my lap.

"Since before we saw Falco that day in the square," he says, definitely not phrasing his words like a question. "So that's at least a month."

"How do you know?"

"Because you've always been so careful to hide your relationship before, but that day half the district saw you and it was like you didn't care. It was like you thought you had nothing left to lose."

I shake my head once more as I suddenly understand that he's known the truth for such a long time, that I thought I was shielding him from my fate when in reality I was lying to myself all along.

"How long, Cash?" he repeats, reaching across and scooping me off the arm of the chair and onto his lap. "There's no point trying to hide it now."

Something about the way he says that opens the floodgates and before I know it I'm telling him everything. I tell him about what the president really said to me when I saw him the day after the Quell announcement, about how he's known about my relationship with Falco for years and how he planned to punish me for my defiance by rigging the reaping.

"Well he won't win," is Gloss's response after I fall silent. "I'm going in with you and I'm going to make sure you get out."

"No, Gloss," I sob, the tears I thought had dried up beginning all over again. "I won't let you die for me. I won't let you die!"

"I won't give you a choice," he replies. "You've got more to live for than I have."

"How can you say that? How can you think I could live without you?"

"You can and you will," he says fiercely. "You will live and perhaps you'll see the day when things are totally different to how they are now. Then you could marry Falco," he continues, clearly trying to convince me to acquiesce by making me think of happier thoughts. As if I ever would. "And you could have lots of babies who'd grow up to take over the world in the most stylish way possible. All without breaking a nail or ruffling their hair."

He's teasing the girl I used to be, just like he always does when he's trying to make me laugh, and I hit him despite my continued tears. However I shake my head at the same time. "No, Gloss. I can't remember a time in my life where I didn't have you with me. You've always been there. I won't live without you. I won't."

"And you think I don't feel the same about you?" he replies, and I soon realise I have no answer to that.

If I am one half then he is the other, and it's a fact rather than arrogance to think that without me he won't be whole again. I'm sitting here thinking that I can't live without him, but before now I'd never considered that he'd feel exactly the same way about me.

"I know you do," I whisper. "But we can't both live and I told you before and I'll tell you again a thousand times, I won't let you die for me."

"Then it seems we've arrived at stalemate, Cashy," he replies, resting his hand gently against the side of my face and drawing my head down onto his shoulder. "Because I have no intention of letting you die for me either."

Once again he says something I have no answer to. What can I possibly say? Who am I to say that I love him more than he loves me? I couldn't say that because I know it's not true. If it was then we wouldn't have been so strong and so united for all these years.

In the end I say nothing for a long time and simply sit listening to his heart beat as the barren landscape I've seen so many times before races by outside. But then something suddenly occurs to me, a flashback from the reaping, and I can't stay silent.

"You lied to me too," I say quietly. "You were reaching for the rope barrier before your name was even called. You knew what would happen."

"The look on Falco's face and his reaction would have told me everything I needed to know, Cash," he replies, tensing his arms to squeeze me tighter. "But you are right, I did know. Or I guessed anyway."

"How? When?"

"I was speaking to Marius and he accidentally let slip about the threats made against his mother. It took me hours but I eventually got him to tell me the whole story and it turned out that the threats all revolved around the reaping for the Quell and how he mustn't volunteer."

"But-"

"The more I thought about it, the more I thought it was odd that I knew nothing about these threats, that none were made against those I love. What you saw before my name was called was Marius telling me that all of the other male Victors had the same thing happen to them. All of them but me. That's when I knew. So make sure you tell Falco he isn't to blame. There were six pieces of paper in that reaping ball but they all had Gloss de Montfort written on them, I guarantee it. Even if nobody could ever prove it."

"It makes sense," I say, my voice catching as fresh tears trail down my cheeks and onto his shirt. "It's what he'd have planned all along. The ultimate punishment for what I did. Something worse than any of his Gamemakers could ever hope to imagine."

"You didn't do anything, Cashmere," he replies forcefully. "You fell in love with Falco and he with you. So what? Love isn't a crime. The Capitol is to blame for this. _He _is to blame for this and don't you ever, _ever _forget it."

"I won't," I reply, but I know I'm not fooling him any more than I'm fooling myself. If Gloss dies then I'll blame myself for as long as live, no matter if it's minutes, hours or days longer than him. I will blame myself forever.

He lets the subject drop though, for now at least, and the only time he speaks for the next hour or so is when he's responding to the knock on the door. When we hear it he looks at me and I shake my head, knowing it isn't Falco, and he quickly tells whoever it is to go away in no uncertain terms. They do as he commands without a word of protest and we stay where we are, sitting in silence because there simply aren't words. It's almost dark before he finally speaks again.

"You should go to Falco. Tell him what I told you. Tell him that what happened isn't his fault."

"I want to," I say quietly. "But I don't want to leave you either."

"I'm not going anywhere. Go. I'll still be here when you get back."

I stumble to my feet and out of the cabin into the narrow corridor beyond, not allowing myself to look back at Gloss because I know how much it will hurt. When I reach the next door, I slide it open to find Falco sitting on one of the television room's massive armchairs with Lace and Fortune opposite him and he turns to me instantly. I jerk my head sharply in the direction of the door leading to the bedrooms, the only place I can think of where we might have something that passes for a private conversation. Plus it has the added bonus that the look on Lace's face is priceless. I'd be lying if I said I didn't partly do it because of that too.

Falco smiles slightly and I carry on walking, knowing he'll follow me as soon as he's at least attempted to pacify my mentors. I don't know why he bothers. I don't care what they think so I can't see any reason why he should either.

The bedroom that had been Glimmer's last year and had been mine nine years before looks virtually the same as it always did until I sit on the bed. Then I look straight ahead at the picture on the wall opposite, which had always depicted a Capitol sunset before, and see it has been replaced by a still life depicting a vase of roses. White roses.

My mind goes blank as I throw myself back off the bed and all rational thought leaves without a trace. I try to pull the painting off the wall but it doesn't work, and all I do is tear a corner of the canvas. However once I notice that, I quickly make the tear bigger until it virtually rips in half, part of it clinging to its frame by little more than a thread. That is until I yank it loose and send it flying across the room.

"Cashmere?" is all Falco says as he steps tentatively into the room, and the way he calls me by my proper name tells me instantly how awful I must look, how unstable.

I'd been planning to say so many things, to tell him what Gloss told me and to tell him how much I love him, that I'd never blame him for any of this, but in the end the words don't come. I race across the room and throw myself into his arms, crying all over again as he holds me close, kisses the top of my head and tells me lies. He says everything will be okay, but how can anything ever be okay ever again?

* * *

><p>"Do you want to watch the review?" he whispers, looking down at me when I shake my head as I abruptly remember the whole Hunger Games process and realise what comes next.<p>

"No. Or I do but I don't want to move. I can't face Lace and Fortune and I want to stay here with you like this."

"We don't have to go to the television room," he replies, his expression amused although I have no idea why.

He gets up, laughing because I complain when he pushes me away, and then crosses to the other side of the room to stare pointedly at the remains of what used to be the picture on the wall. He glares disdainfully at it and then sends the only piece I didn't rip away completely down onto the floor with the rest.

"What?" I ask, pretending to be annoyed with him when what he just did makes me feel anything but angry. "Stop looking all smug and say what you want to say."

"I will. But first you can tell me why you've never worked this out before," he says, smiling at my annoyance.

"Worked what out before?" I say him flatly. "Can't you just tell me?"

He smiles again as he flicks a switch on the wall beside the frame, and for the first time I notice the wires and fragments of metal that the picture concealed. I jump at the mechanical sound it makes as it flips over to become a television screen almost as big as the one in the other room.

"All the times you've been on this train and you didn't know it did that," he says as he walks back towards the bed, making sure he stands on the pile of canvas as he does.

"Unlike some, I'm not used to the unrivalled luxury of the Capitolian lifestyle, O Great One," I retort, turning away from him when he tries to take me in his arms.

"Don't sulk, Butterfly, it doesn't suit you," he replies teasingly, whispering into my ear as he lifts me up and then drops me back down again, laughing when I grasp the front of his shirt and take him with me.

Several minutes pass before I suddenly remember the reaping review and what it could mean. I pull back from him immediately and gesture to the television.

"We should see who we're up against," I say, suddenly deadly serious once more. "Let's get it over with."

He nods and quickly sits up, his expression as serious as mine as he reaches for the remote control.

"Where's your brother?"

"He said he needed a few minutes to think. You know how he likes to sit in the cabin at the back of the train where the roof retracts. He likes the fresh air."

"And how long ago did he say that?"

Ages ago, I think to myself, but I'm not going to tell Falco that even though he already knows. If this train journey has taught me anything, it's taught me that I'm destined to spend the however many days of my life I have left torn between the two of them and constantly wanting to be in two places at once. But that's my problem and there's no need to make Falco feel guilty about it too. It's no more his fault than it is mine. Or perhaps I should say that we're equally to blame.

"A while ago," I answer eventually, "but he'll be here. He won't want to miss the review and he won't want to watch it with Lace and Fortune."

"He'll want to be with you," he replies, and just as he does, we both hear a soft tapping at the door.

"Come in, Gloss," I call, instinctively knowing it's him.

"I was hoping you'd say that, sister mine," he says lightly as he peers around the door at me. "One of the few things that could actually make this situation even worse is having to spend the evening with our mentors so I'm pleased I'm not going to have to."

"You can come over here, you know," I reply, holding my hand out to him.

He looks from me to Falco and then back at me before slowly walking over to sit on the chair beside the bed.

"Is it time yet?" he asks as he drags the chair closer and rests his head on the edge of my pillow.

I turn around to look down at him, and when I do I'm so sharply reminded of a Gloss twenty years younger that it takes my breath away. The way he's sitting, the way he's looking up at me, it's all the same, and the sight of him like that makes me even more determined that he'll be sitting here on the way back to District One when the Games are over.

"Yes, it's time," answers Falco, and we all watch as the screen changes from black to multicoloured and the usual orange-skinned presenter introduces the reaping review.

Nobody speaks when he spends the first few minutes introducing the Quell and recapping the 'exciting and gripping' story so far. Then when he introduces District One, I bury my face against Falco's shoulder so I don't have to look. Living through it once was way more than enough. I don't want to watch it again.

Falco lifts his hand up to cover my ear that isn't against the pillow, and it's only when he lowers his arm again that I look back at the screen. When I do, it's to see 'District Two' in vivid red letters on a plain black screen. I don't want to watch that one either.

My heart starts to race and I have to force myself to unclench my fists. This is it. This is where I see the people I'll most likely have to kill so Gloss can live.

The District Two main square looks exactly as I remember it, only like at my own second reaping, the number of people standing in the enclosures before their stage is also greatly reduced. But not as reduced as it is everywhere else. No other district has as many Victors as District Two.

Selene Fairfax is a complete contrast to Falco as she skips lightly across the stage towards the reaping balls like she hasn't a care in the world. She looks happy, like she's loving her moment in the spotlight even more than she usually does, and I can suddenly understand why Clove Jacia seemed to despise her so much and why Ursala never has a good word to say about her.

The Victors of District Two almost look like a unit of Peacekeepers, all lined up at the front of their enclosures with fixed expressions that reveal no emotions. If the Capitol are looking for tears and people begging to be spared then they'll obviously have to wait for another district, because they won't get that here. Even the old woman who looked at Katniss like she wanted to kill her during the Victory Tour is there, and despite how she must be at least eighty, her back is as straight as that of the woman half her age who stands beside her.

"Tiberius Silvestri!" shouts Selene from the stage in her high-pitched grating voice.

I tighten my grip on Gloss's hand but don't look away from the screen for a second as the camera zooms in on Tiberius, who shrugs his broad shoulders and smiles humourlessly before making his way up to the stage. My heart sinks at the sight of him because I know I couldn't hope to win a fight against him, and fight him I surely must. After I killed Dahlia in the arena, he'll feel he has no choice. He'll want to fight me, and if he kills me then who will protect Gloss? Who will stop him from doing exactly the same to my beloved little brother who has to live?

"It's fine, Cash," says Gloss quietly. "I can fight him if you help me."

"You might not have to," interrupts Falco before I can reply. "Look."

I refocus my attention on the screen to see another man ducking under the rope barrier and almost running towards the stage.

"Brutus," breathes Gloss. "He's actually going to volunteer."

I don't know much about Brutus. I don't even remember his second name. All I remember is that he won the Games a few years after Vikus Cortez and that he's been fighting to get out of the shadow of his more skilled, more lethal and altogether more famous rival ever since.

I hold my breath as he climbs the steps, watching as Tiberius steps forwards to meet him, only stopping when their faces are inches apart. Whatever Brutus sees in the eyes of the younger and stronger man eventually makes him back down and look away, but by then it's too late and they both know it. At no time during the build up to the Quell has it been said that the rule on volunteering has been altered, and that means that Tiberius must leave the stage to make way for his replacement. I'm sure my sigh of relief must be audible but the feeling doesn't last long.

The next time the camera moves away from the stage, it rests upon the faces of the women waiting in the second enclosure. It lingers on Ursala the longest as if to torment me, zooming right in on her face so her dark eyes seem to fill the entire screen. Please not her, pleads the voice at the back of my mind. Please not her. Anyone but her.

"Enobaria Moreno!" comes Selene's voice from the stage, and the camera immediately moves on to the woman standing on Ursala's right, who's face doesn't change at all as she steps forwards.

"Good," I say, releasing my death grip on Gloss's hand just slightly.

"Is it?" asks Falco sceptically, as well he might considering how Enobaria is one of the deadliest people ever to set foot in an arena.

"Yes," I reply. "It is when I think about one of the alternatives."

I nod towards the screen and he follows the direction of my gaze in time to see Ursala leaning across the barrier towards someone just out of reach. When a young woman pushes past two of the Peacekeeper guards to take her hand, I can't doubt her identity despite how she was a young child when I saw her last. Velia, but grown-up Velia, who looks so like her mother that I'd recognise her anywhere. The first good news of my day is that Ursala will live to see the end of the Victor's Quell. And now I know I won't have to kill my friend to save my brother.

Then the picture changes to show a very different scene in District Three. The two enclosures at the front of their stage are massive considering how each one is only occupied by two people, and their escort draws the names from the reaping balls very quickly. Beetee and Wiress, just like Falco predicted, but I don't have time to think about them for long.

"It's going to be him," says Gloss, and when I turn to look at him as the review moves on to the fishing district, I know he means Finnick Odair. "I know it is."

"The Capitol will want a good show," I reply, squeezing his hand as I look back at the screen.

"And they'll get it once the starting gong sounds," he whispers, his voice barely audible but full of a hatred I wouldn't have thought him capable of ten years ago. "He'll remember Sapphire's name before his cannon fires."

"No, Gloss," I say, frantically sitting up and staring unblinkingly into his eyes as if that will make him change his mind. "You can't. Odair will get what's coming to him but not like that. Not at your hand. Please."

I keep staring down at him, willing him to listen to me. If he goes looking for a fight with Finnick Odair then he might not win and it won't be easy for me to protect him with the chaos of the first battle of the Games going on around us. And for whatever despicable reasons, the Capitolian sponsors love the man from District Four more than any other Victor. They won't be in a rush to see him dead, even if he is fighting with one who is almost equally as adored.

"Do you think I can't win?"

"No, I didn't say that," I reply. "But it's possible that you wouldn't. And you need to concentrate on staying alive not looking for revenge."

"It might not happen anyway," he says, his expression telling me clearer than any words that I haven't heard the end of this.

"You know as well as I do that it will," I answer, and as I do, the escort for District Four calls the name of the man who killed my sister and he makes his way slowly to the stage, looking totally resigned to his fate.

Something about the way he looks down at the crowd tells me he already knew he'd be going back into the arena. Just like I did. But I don't want to think about that. I don't want to be in any way similar to someone like him.

"He has to die, Cash," says Gloss, making Falco frown slightly and me squeeze his hand tighter.

"No, Gloss," I whisper in response. "You have to live."

* * *

><p>The rest of the review seems to pass by quickly after that, with enough drama to keep the Capitol happy, for a short time at least. Viola Stafford from District Five is the mayor's wife and their only female Victor, and I can see the fear in her eyes as she takes the stage to stand beside her husband even though she's obviously trying to hide it. The two Victors called from District Six are so ruined by the morphling they use to numb their pain that they barely seem to comprehend what's happening as they're selected, but I can see the defiance in Johanna Mason when the review moves on to District Seven. She's already walking towards the stage when her name is called, leaving the roped enclosure empty behind her.<p>

"They sure know how to put on an exciting show," says Falco, his voice dripping with both bitterness and disgust when Cecelia from District Eight has to have her three children torn away from her when her name is called.

It's several minutes before I can collect my emotions enough to bring myself to look back at the screen after that, but when I do I'm in time to see Chaff and Seeder take to the stage in District Eleven. It doesn't surprise me. Seeder and Chaff have been friends for years and Chaff is friend and drinking partner to Haymitch Abernathy. It's clear that even that tiny association with the Girl on Fire is enough to earn a death warrant in this Quarter Quell.

"So that's it then," says Gloss as Haymitch Abernathy is reaped and then promptly replaced by Peeta Mellark. I sincerely doubt that reaping was left down to chance either.

"If only I was a Victor," whispers Falco in a voice so quiet I'm sure Gloss won't be able to hear. "Then I could have stopped this."

"And replace one person I love with another? What would that achieve?"

"Then there would be a chance you'd both live."

"Don't," I tell him loudly, completely forgetting to whisper. "Don't say things like that. And anyway," I continue, a lot more softly this time, "you can't fight."

"I'd fight for you," he replies, his tone falsely and mockingly sweet but his expression deadly serious.

"I wouldn't let you," I say, shuffling as close to him as I can without having to let go of Gloss's hand.

"Would you two get a room," teases my brother immediately.

"I did," I retort just as quickly. "This is it."

He laughs along with me, but then the background noise coming from the television abruptly cuts out as the reaping review finishes and we all fall instantly silent along with it. I can tell from their faces that Gloss and Falco crashed back to reality at the exact same time as me.

"Alliance or not?" asks Falco eventually, and I realise talk of strategy isn't going to wait until we get to the Capitol.

"With Brutus and Enobaria?" says Gloss, sounding more than a little dubious about the mere thought of it.

"Might be safer to be with her than against her at the start," I suggest, silently hoping he'll agree.

If I'm going to fight the famously lethal woman from District Two and have a chance of winning then it's going to have to be at a time and place of my choosing rather than in the chaos of the bloodbath.

"You can negotiate with her then," replies Gloss with a smirk. "I'd be too scared to speak to her."

"Really, brother mine? Someone like you scared of poor defenceless little Enobaria? I don't believe it."

"Defenceless?" he retorts incredulously. "If she's defenceless then I'm going to fly to the arena without the hovercraft."

"Which is why we should try to ally with her. She's not stupid so she'll know we're going to be better off in a group at the beginning."

"I suppose we need to keep her where we can see her," he replies, and I sigh with relief when I realise he's going to go along with my planned alliance. "But it's an alliance of One and Two. The only time I want to see Odair is when his cannon fires."

"As if I'd want it any different," I say quickly.

"I doubt there'll only be one alliance this year though," says Falco, sitting up so he can see Gloss as well as me. "The Victors all know each other. Some will choose to deal with it by separating themselves from their friends, but others will team up and they'll try to bring you down because you're the biggest threat, especially if you ally with Two."

"Then we'll have to get them before they get us, won't we?" I reply, speaking without thinking and without really realising what I'm saying. Then I remember and I look away in shame.

"You have no choice, Butterfly," whispers Falco, seeming to sense what I'm thinking. "Kill or be killed. It's not your fault."

I look back at him but I don't say anything. All I can think when he says that is that it isn't 'Kill or be killed' this year. It's 'Kill or Gloss dies', and that suddenly makes my decision a lot easier.

"We'll have chance to work out what the others are planning when we see them," says Gloss, rising slowly to his feet without letting go of my hand. "We're here."

I let him pull me up and lean around so I can see out of the window. When I do, I wonder how I didn't notice the bright lights of the Capitol before and suddenly want nothing more than to run and hide. But where would I run to? This is the Hunger Games and there is no escape. I have to face training and the interviews all over again, but before I do, I have to stand on a chariot and pretend to enjoy being be paraded through the streets of the city for everyone to see. Dressed in whatever Auriel decides to make me wear. And if what he dressed Glimmer in for her interview is anything to go by then I'll be lucky if I'm wearing anything at all.

* * *

><p>The three of us leave the bedroom together and as we walk down the corridor towards the sitting room, I link one arm with Gloss's and the other with Falco's. For a brief second my heart lifts slightly. At least I have them. At least I have something to lose.<p>

The first person I see as I push the sliding door across is Lace, and she shakes her head and clicks her tongue disapprovingly as soon as she sees me. Though I try to ignore her, it's somehow even more difficult than it was when I was a tribute the first time. I move past her and towards the doors when I feel the train slow as we approach the station platform, but her comment reaches me all the same.

"Just think what the reporters would say if they knew you made a habit of disappearing into your bedroom with you brother and an eminent member of government. I'm sure it would be quite the scandal."

"Be careful, Lace," says Falco, his voice dripping with false-lightness. "People like me make really bad enemies, and I'm not feeling all that friendly towards you right now."

"Ignore her, Falco," I say, interrupting before my so-called mentor can reply at the same time as trying to think about what I could possibly have done to make her hate me as much as she's always seemed to. "She isn't worth it."

Then my attention is abruptly taken away from both of them as Gloss takes my hand and pulls me the rest of the way towards the door. I look at him at the same time as he looks at me, and I know he's thinking exactly what I'm thinking. How can we get through this without losing control? How can we get through this without showing the Capitol what we're really thinking?

"All we have to do is get to the car," I whisper, tightening my already firm grip on his hand. "They'll all be waiting for District Twelve so they won't bother with us."

However before the station attendants have even thought about approaching the doors, I realise I can already hear them. The low buzz of a crowd I can't see, waiting on the other side of the suddenly very flimsy looking sliding door, all desperate to ask us how we feel about having to go into the arena again. The thought makes me want to tell them the truth. It makes me want to step out onto the platform and tell them everything. It makes me want to tell them what kind of man their president really is. But then it occurs to me that the vast majority of them probably wouldn't care, and I release Gloss's hand only so I can link my arm through his as I try to stop myself from shuddering. There would be no point in saying anything. All I can do is accept my fate like a good little Victor-tribute and hope I can remember how to fight well enough to get Gloss out of the arena alive.

The noise the door makes as it's pushed to the side reminds me of nails scraping along a blackboard, of the sounds I heard when I was There last time, and I instinctively shrink back. Gloss somehow pulls me against him and steps in front of me at the same time, shielding me from the surge of people as the barrier between us and the crowd disappears.

* * *

><p>It's late enough that it's dark outside, but there are still more people gathered to await our arrival than I remember ever seeing before. It isn't only the reporters calling out questions this time either, and many of the constantly flashing cameras don't belong to the professionals. It seems that everyone in the Capitol wants a piece of the Victor's Quell. I can tell merely by looking at them that the excitement is almost at fever pitch already and this is only the beginning.<p>

"Keep walking," urges Falco as he jumps down from the train to stand behind me. "Don't look at them."

I try to do as he says, but I can't help it. They're everywhere so I can't avoid it, and not even focussing ahead on the doors I'm slowly moving towards helps because they're there as well.

"Cashmere!"

I recognise that voice and when I turn I see Phoenix in the centre of a large group of friends, and he's staring at me so intently that I nod once and then have to look away. I can tell from his expression alone that he has no real understanding of what's just happened to me and how it's the most horrific thing I could possibly imagine. He's simply happy to see me back in the Capitol and is most likely thinking to win my affection by providing sponsorship.

I look away and tighten my grip on Gloss's arm, but as we finally reach the car I look back for Phoenix, starting to think that I might be being unfair and judgemental. He's naïve and stupid but he isn't cruel, so perhaps he wasn't thinking that at all.

"What's wrong, Cash?" asks Gloss as soon as the car pulls away.

"How long have you got?" I retort dryly.

"I meant what's wrong right now," he replies, half scowling and half smirking.

"Phoenix," I answer, deciding there and then that I'm not going to lie to him again. Not unless it's for his own good. "He was in the crowd."

"He's got a thing for you. Narissa said so."

"And what makes Narissa think that?" I ask, wondering what else Narissa said.

He shrugs his shoulders. "Narissa knows things."

"I don't doubt it," I reply, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head in mock-disapproval.

He just laughs, moving so I can lean against him, and we spend the rest of the journey to the Remake Centre like that. I don't say a word and he doesn't either. What can we say? I don't think there are words for a situation like this.

* * *

><p>The same woman I saw the last time I was a tribute is waiting for us when we finally arrive at the Remake Centre. And she hasn't changed a bit. Literally. So literally that I find myself staring at her as she welcomes us back, praising my beauty and rubbing her hand against Gloss's arm in a way that makes his expression fade away to leave nothing but emptiness behind. Her lips form a beaming, white-toothed smile, but her facial muscles don't move a millimetre.<p>

"Anyway," interrupts Falco as soon as he steps past me to look at Gloss, "it's late. I think it's about time Gloss and Cashmere went to bed. They've got an important day tomorrow."

"Thank you," I whisper softly to him as the woman sighs deeply and leads us further into the Remake Centre. I might not like it when he goes all Capitol on me but, even out of favour as he is, there aren't many who are willing to argue with him, and at times like this I'm grateful for it. "Will you stay?"

"I can't," he replies, speaking just as quietly as I did. "You need sponsorship money, Butterfly, and the best time to ask for it is when they've just seen your arrival back in the city. Before Vikus Cortez starts strutting around like the all-conquering hero."

"I don't think Enobaria will need anyone to fight her corner," I say ominously as the Capitolian woman stops outside the door of the room I've slept in once before.

"Perhaps not, but he'll enjoy the battle anyway."

"Your prep team will collect you in the morning," says the woman, holding the door open for me. As soon as I step forwards, she lets it go again and literally drags Gloss away. "Your room is this way," she trills.

"Can't you stay for a short time?" I ask Falco as we turn to look at each other.

"If I stay even for a minute then you know I won't leave you," he replies. "You need sponsors and I won't let you down."

He kisses me briefly and then disappears back the way we came, heading in the direction of the main entrance. I watch him go and then go inside the room, which looks identical to how it did before. I don't want to really, but I don't want to attract the attention of all the people who seem to be milling around in the corridors either, so I sit down on the bed and stay there.

After a few minutes, I kick my shoes off and pull back the covers so I can climb underneath them, but I soon realise I won't be able to sleep. All I can think about is the arena, and about the other Victor-tributes I'll have to fight. Besides, even if I did go to sleep, it would only be a matter of time before my nightmares woke me. I really have no wish to see Gloss's death, even if it is only in a dream.

In the end I settle for sitting up in bed and leaning back against the headboard, tucking my knees up to my chest underneath the blanket. There are no lights on in the room but there are no curtains over the window either, and the light that comes from outside is easily enough to illuminate the room. I can hear the noise of people both running around in the corridors of the Remake Centre, no doubt making their preparations for tomorrow, and also from those outside the building, partying on the streets as they await further arrivals from the districts. I wish I could lean out of the window and tell them all to go away.

However just as I'm trying to comfort myself by thinking of ever more imaginative and painful ways to murder President Snow, the door clicks quietly open, making me jump to my feet instantly.

"Relax, Cash. It's only me," calls Gloss as he quickly closes the door behind him. "Can I stay with you? I couldn't sleep."

"How did you get back here?" I ask, sitting down again and pulling the blankets back so he can climb into bed beside me. "I assumed they'd have locked us in or something."

"No, but I don't think the People from the Other World ever sleep," he says. "They're everywhere."

"Getting ready for tomorrow," I whisper, shifting closer to him and pulling the blanket tighter.

"Are you cold?" he asks, immediately giving me his half of the blanket and laughing when I give it back just as quickly.

"Not really," I say, shivering despite what I tell him. "I just…I just don't want to be here."

"You'll-"

"Gloss de Montfort, don't you dare tell me I'll be going home soon. I thought we'd agreed we're not going to have that conversation yet."

He puts his arms around me and holds me close. I can feel him shaking his head.

"Okay, Cash, okay," he whispers, raising his hands as if in surrender despite how he keeps his arms firmly around me. I can hear the tired defeat in his voice. "If you don't want to talk about it then we won't. But we're still at deadlock and ignoring it isn't going to make it change."

"Neither's talking about it," I reply, shuffling around so I can rest my head on his chest and hear his heart beating. "I know I won't change my mind and I know you won't either."

"Then we'll have to let fate decide," he says, but I can tell immediately that he isn't planning on leaving anything to fate, that he's as determined to return me to Satin as I am to return him, no matter what he says to try and make me feel better.

I don't know what to say to that so I don't say anything, and after a while he starts talking about home, about how we used to be before the Games changed us forever. I lie there listening to him, occasionally joining in with memories of my own, but mostly I let him do the talking. When he finally trails off as he falls asleep, I'm too close to sleep myself to tell him to continue.

The last thing I think is that President Snow has taken everything it's possible for him to take from me by setting up this Quarter Quell, but at least he can't take this. Nothing he could do could break my bond with Gloss and nothing he could do could stop Falco from loving me and me from loving him. And when I think about it like that, I know he'll never truly win.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Back to normal with the updates now ;) If you didn't see Chapter 20 last week when I posted early then you need to go back one before you read this...**_

_**Thanks to everyone who did see it and left me a review :)**_

Chapter Twenty-One

The first thought I have when the prep team arrive is that they aren't my prep team. I don't know why I was stupid enough to let myself believe it would be them, but when the two strangers stroll into my room at first light without having the courtesy to knock, my heart sinks. They're loud, shallow and superficial, but that doesn't stop me from longing for Charis and Callista, because though they're all of those things and more, they also care for me in their own way and I feel fragile enough that I long for the sight of a friendly face. These two look alike enough to be sisters and they're what Gloss would instantly call 'the worst Capitolians imaginable', which in itself is something I find ironic considering what my brother knows of Capitolians.

"I'm Serica and this is Cerelia!" shouts the green-haired woman nearest to me as I sit up in bed, hoping to have time to get up myself rather than having to suffer the indignity of being dragged to my feet by these women. "And we're so happy to be involved in your big day! Isn't it just so exciting? The whole city's talking about the ceremony!"

I look down at my hands as she speaks, attempting to school my emotions and my features before looking back at her and trying to formulate a response she'll find acceptable. Part of me doesn't want to bother. Part of me wants to ask her how she'd feel if she had to choose between her life and her brother's. But I don't, and eventually manage to smile back at her. If I were her then I don't think I'd be convinced, however she seems happy enough.

"What's this?" says Cerelia, reaching for a piece of paper that rests on the pillow next to mine. Her skin is as green as her companion's hair.

I snatch it from her immediately, barely noticing her slightly offended and shocked sounding gasp, and open it to reveal Gloss's familiar neat writing. The note doesn't say much, just that he left because he didn't want Lucretia to have to come looking for him and that he'll see me very soon, but I cling to it like my life depends on not letting go.

Then the door opens again and I don't know what to think when Drusilla storms in, sending her colleagues reeling back without even touching them. They clearly haven't yet learnt that her bark is worse than her bite like Callista and Charis had.

"Go on ahead and run Cashmere's bath," she commands. "Get the room ready. You know what a state they're usually left in and I can't work in a mess."

Serica and Cerelia dive out of the room immediately, clearly terrified, leaving me alone with the woman who ruled my prep team nine years earlier.

"What are you doing here? I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand, girl," she replies, her tone as abrasive as it ever was despite how gentle she is when she drapes a robe over my shoulders. "You just have to smile for the cameras tonight so they all want to sponsor you."

"I'm not a girl anymore, Drusilla," I say, following her towards the door. "Why are you here? You don't do prep for the tributes now."

"You're not just a tribute," she replies, and again her words are harsh but her expression is slightly more forgiving than usual. "Do you really think I'd let Ancilla loose on you?"

I smile at the mention of Ancilla, who is the head of Auriel's prep team. Glimmer hated her with a passion so great that she couldn't hide it, and it took a lot to get Glimmer even remotely close to openly revealing her true emotions from what I saw. I've never really met Ancilla but she must be bad so I'm pleased I don't have to.

"I'm pleased you're here," I tell her, struggling not to laugh when her only response is to scowl at me.

"You haven't got time to be pleased, Cashmere. We've only got a few hours before we have to fit your costume," she says, pointing imperiously at the door. "Bath. Now."

"Yes, ma'am," I tease, and stern, impossibly strict Drusilla actually winks at me and swats the back of my legs as I step forwards.

* * *

><p>I sigh with relief when the prep team finally leave me, happy that I don't have to pretend to be dealing with all of this, that I can stop putting on a brave face for their sakes and curl up on the floor in the corner of the room like I've been wanting to do ever since I got here. I'm suddenly freezing cold, but when I look around for something else to put on, I find nothing. I pull my silk robe tighter but it doesn't make me any warmer.<p>

When the knock at the door eventually comes, I barely notice it and don't even look up. I know without seeing it that I won't want to wear whatever Auriel is going to dress me in, but for once in my life I don't have the strength to argue. He can send me out there naked if he wants to. I don't really care anymore. Now this has happened, nothing seems to matter.

"Cashmere? What are you doing on the floor?"

I do look up then, lifting my head in disbelief at the sound of that voice.

"Felix?"

"The one and only," he replies teasingly. "Accept no substitutes."

"What are you doing here? Where's Auriel?"

"I can leave if you like. If you'd prefer to see Auriel then I can go and fetch him."

"No," I reply immediately, pushing myself to my feet and reaching out for him, partly to stop him from leaving and partly as a way of convincing myself he's real. "But I don't understand."

"This Quell has to be the biggest show the city has ever seen," he says, speaking with more than a hint of disgust in his voice. "I am the most famous designer in the Capitol, and who made me famous? Who gave me the break I'd been searching for? Who do people still associate me with after all these years? You, Cashmere. You. It didn't take much to persuade the Games officials that it would be in their best interest if they let me be your stylist."

"But why? You don't need to style for the Games."

"No," he replies, putting one arm across my shoulders and hugging me gently. I feel warmer instantly. "I don't need to style for the Games, but I wanted to style for you."

"Thank you," I whisper, amazed that he'd do that for me.

"Cashmere, I'm so sorry this has happened. I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. There's nothing you can say and talking about it will only make it worse. And you'll make me cry. Which will ruin my make-up. And then we'll both have to face the wrath of Drusilla."

He laughs but soon becomes serious again. "I won't talk about it if you don't want me to, but if you want to talk then you know you can talk to me."

"I know, but I'm fine. I just need to get through tonight."

He looks about as convinced as I feel by that but he says nothing further and pushes me lightly away from him.

"I'm sorry," he says as he unties my robe and pushes it from my shoulders.

I can't help laughing at that. "Why? You've dressed me for nearly ten years, Felix. It's not like you haven't seen it all before."

He laughs with me, but his expression is still sad. "I didn't mean that. It…it feels like I'm dressing you up for their amusement before they send you to slaughter, Cashmere. And if I trusted anyone else to do you justice then I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to do it."

"But you did do it. You are doing it. For me. And I'll never forget it."

He almost seems embarrassed by that, and looks away as he pulls a measuring tape from his pocket and wraps it around my waist.

"You've been training," he says, making a statement rather than asking a question.

"Of course. I won't be much use to Gloss if I can't fight."

His eyes jump to mine instantly and I know he didn't miss the true meaning of what I said, but once more he doesn't comment. He simply pulls the tape tight and shakes his head.

"I let the dress out and I've got to take it back in again now," he says, moving the tape down to my hips.

"What do you mean?"

"Lucretia and I have a plan," he replies, picking my robe up and holding it out so I can put it back on. "That's why I sent you that dress."

"It was the same as my old reaping dress."

"Exactly," he says thoughtfully. "Answer me a question, Cashmere. What were you thinking when you watched the review of the reapings? About the other Victor-tributes, I mean."

I think about it for a minute, trying to recall when really most of what I can remember involves trying to decide which of them might be able to challenge us in the arena.

"That most of them don't look like they once did," I reply eventually. "That winning the Hunger Games breaks a person as much as losing does."

He nods. "Now think about yourself. Think about Gloss. Now what do you see? Tell me how you've changed since you wore the crown, how your brother has."

I'm sure my confusion must be reflected in my expression as I stare back at him. I've spent the best part of ten years wishing Gloss would age and lose his looks, that the mental torment he endures would somehow start to be reflected in his physical appearance, but it never did. And when I look around to see my own image in the wall-mounted mirror, I don't think I look all that different to the girl who took to the stage at the Victory Ceremony for the Sixty-sixth Games either.

"I don't know," I say, breaking eye contact with myself to look back at Felix. "We haven't changed, not on the outside. Not really."

"Precisely," he replies, nodding in satisfaction. "You still look more or less like you did then. I dressed you in a dress virtually identical to the one you wore at your reaping because I knew they'd all remember you as you were, as if no time had passed. They loved you then and they'll love you again."

"So what am I wearing tonight?"

"I think you've guessed the answer to that already," he tells me. "You and your brother will step onto the chariot wearing what you wore when you were tributes the first time. We want them all to really remember who they're looking at."

"I won't have to-"

"No," he replies, smiling sadly once again. "You've got a new dress for Interview Night. If the plan's going to work then it will have worked by then."

I return his smile and resign myself to spending the rest of the afternoon being slowly covered in gold body paint and the rest of the evening forcing myself not to scratch when it starts to irritate my skin. But it's a good plan. The Capitol audience loved Gloss as much as they loved me and if this gets us some sponsorship money then I'm all for it.

* * *

><p>I remember preparation for Opening Ceremony night taking ages before, but it seems to take even longer this time. Between them, Drusilla and Felix gradually transform me into a golden, other-worldly version of myself, until finally they declare themselves happy and allow the other two members of my prep team to dress me in the gold sequinned creation that immediately brings countless memories flooding back.<p>

When they back away I walk across the room to stare at my reflection in the mirror, turning back and forth and examining myself with a critical eye. I looked better last time, I can see that much, but I suppose it's only to be expected. I'd been training for years before I wore it last time. This time it's only been three months.

Felix moves to stand behind me then, and I watch his image in the mirror as he reaches up to unclip my hair, carefully arranging it over my shoulders.

"Still beautiful," he says. "Maybe you can outshine the Girl On Fire."

"Unlikely," I reply, trying not to sound bitter. "She's the one they all want to see. But at least they'll see us first."

"Falco won't let you down. If you need sponsorship money then you'll have it."

"I know that," I say, and my voice shakes as I finally allow myself to think about him. "I've never doubted it."

Then I raise my hand to my face, attempting to wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes before they fall and ruin my gold paint. I wish I hadn't because the first thing I see is my bracelet, hanging around my wrist like it has since Falco gave it to me what feels like a lifetime ago and five minutes ago at the same time. I drop my hand down to rest on the sapphire pendant at my throat.

"Felix… Please…"

He rests his hand lightly over mine. "You don't need to take them off this time, Cashmere. Leave them. It's time. Let's go."

* * *

><p>When I see him standing there in the corridor it's like going back in time. The polished black shoes, the bejewelled cloak, they're all the same. Even the look of amused despair in his eyes that tells me what he thinks of Capitolian fashion better than any words is identical to what it was eight years ago.<p>

"Let the Games begin," I say dryly, just managing to get my words out before my composure cracks and I almost run towards him. It's only a frantic shriek from Lucretia that stops him from taking me in his arms as soon as I get close enough.

"She's supposed to be golden, but you aren't," says my brother's stylist frantically. "Don't do that."

Gloss's expression is mutinous but he settles for pushing my hair back from my face nevertheless. When he stops looking at me and looks over my shoulder instead, I spin around instantly. If we both look like throwbacks to Hunger Games of years past then so does Falco. His black suit is pressed to perfection and on him it looks like it's worth more than the entire district that's responsible for the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight. It probably is. The last time I saw him, his expression was one of sadness and grief, but now he looks determined, and he looks at me like he did when I was dressed like this before.

I walk slowly towards him and he watches me without blinking. This time Felix doesn't tell him not to touch me and Lucretia doesn't seem to dare shriek at him like she did at my brother.

"You're beautiful," he says, and something about the way he says it is very different to the way my stylist did earlier.

"And now we match," I reply, reaching up to run my finger down the front of his previously immaculate jacket like I did nine years ago.

"Always," he whispers, staring at me for several seconds before turning me around and gently pushing me back to Gloss. "I'll see you at the Training Centre."

I nod and take my brother's hand as we step into the lift that will take us to the Opening Ceremony. This is it. Time to see the competition. Time to see what I'm up against.

* * *

><p>There aren't many people there when we get downstairs. At least not many people I recognise. The Capitolian attendants and officials swarm around the chariots like a flock of brightly coloured birds, but the only Victors there so far seem to be the very drunk-looking male tribute from District Five and Marchessa Denoro, who is glaring disdainfully at everyone around her like they are all beneath her notice. Or that's what I think to start with. When I look at her more closely, I see that she's watching every arrival and departure with eyes like a hawk's. She sees us the second we step out of the lift and it's several seconds before she turns away.<p>

"I didn't think we were that early," I say, returning my attention to Gloss. The jewels on his cloak catch the light, sparkling as he moves. I can see him struggling to resist wrapping the garment around himself and I step closer to him even though I'm wearing even less than he is and am not a lot warmer myself.

"We're not," he replies, smiling gratefully and stepping even closer.

Just as he does, all three lift bells ping simultaneously and the doors slide open. My brother audibly snarls as Finnick Odair emerges from the nearest one, followed closely by his adoring stylist and District Four's Capitol escort, who clearly can't take her eyes off him either. Predictably, he's virtually naked and seemingly as full of self-confidence as ever. I glare at him as he strides past.

"Like what you see, de Montfort?" he says, speaking in that voice that drives virtually the entire female population of the Capitol and not just a minority of the male totally out of their minds with lust.

"I'd like it a lot better suspended from the claws of one of those arena hovercrafts in a few days time," I snap back, in no mood for playing games, especially not with the likes of him.

He smirks and for a second I think he's going to retaliate, but then a smile every bit as fake as the one I hide behind when I'm here appears and he walks away. I watch him as he crosses the courtyard, never loosening my grip on Gloss's hand. I'm not sure who I'm trying to hold back, him or myself.

Then the lift bells sound again and when I turn around, the first person I see is Beetee from District Three. He looks slightly pathetic in his garish costume that seems to be covered in light bulbs, and I feel almost sorry for the quietly dignified man I've never been able to bring myself to dislike. He nods politely to me and I return the gesture despite how we're supposed to be enemies. Whether he sees my response or not, I'm not sure, because he immediately hastens over to stand with Wiress and her mentor. I can't help noticing that there's none of Marchessa's usual contempt in her eyes when she looks at him.

"I just need to ask Fortune something," says Gloss, making me look up at him in surprise as he lets go of my hand.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later," he replies, quickly disappearing into the sea of people.

I can't begin to imagine what he could want to talk to Fortune about, but I also can't imagine it being anything good. However instead of thinking and worrying about it now, I'm immediately distracted by watching all of the other Victor-tributes and mentors as they stand in small groups, talking and trying to be subtle about it as they observe everyone else.

Finnick Odair and Mags, who volunteered to take the place of a hysterical Annie Cresta at the reaping, are standing together with Chaff and Seeder from Eleven. Beetee and Wiress are only a short distance away, almost as if they're deliberately remaining within earshot of the others. Perhaps the traditional Career Alliance won't be the only coalition in the Victor's Quell.

Of District Twelve there is no sign, and more importantly to me right now, there is no sign of District Two either. So much for the idea of getting the measure of my potential allies and the woman I see as my biggest threat early on.

"I've seen that outfit before, District One," calls a familiar voice from behind me. "It looks like someone's got a plan."

"Ursala, what are you doing here?" I ask, spinning around to see my friend standing less that a stride away from me in a simple tunic and leggings with her hair blowing in the wind around her, natural and wavy in a way that tells me she hasn't been near her Capitol style team.

"Mentoring," she replies flatly. "Brutus's old mentor's dead and it was my turn."

"Oh," I say feebly, not sure what else to say.

"Or I'm supposed to be mentoring him anyway, but he thinks he knows everything so I don't have to do much," she replies, looking pointedly back at me in a way that tells me there's more to her words than might first appear.

'Thinks he knows everything…'. Overconfident, in other words, which could make him lack judgement in the arena. A warning then. Her way of telling me to watch my back for reasons other than because he might turn on me if we were to form an alliance.

"I think a lot of mentors will be finding themselves slightly redundant this year," I say casually, giving her the merest hint of a smile so she knows I understood. "Did Vikus come with Enobaria?"

"Of course," she says. "I don't think anyone else would dare."

"It doesn't make sense that you're here," I say eventually. "I know your district doesn't hold with the tradition of same sex mentor and tribute, but it's not your year, I'm sure it isn't."

"You're too observant for your own good," she replies, stepping towards me until her arm almost touches mine so she doesn't have to speak any louder. "The official line is that I'm Brutus's choice. He argued that he volunteered so he should get to choose his mentor and I don't think they had the time or the inclination to argue with him."

"And the unofficial line?"

"Where I come from, our trained tributes volunteer to take the place of those who have no skill at fighting. By volunteering for Tiberius, Brutus shamed him in front of the entire district. It was meant to be his year to mentor but they'd have come to blows before the train had even left the station. So I did Tiberius a favour, not that he'd ever thank me for it or even see it like that."

"And Brutus went along with it too?"

"He knows he wouldn't win if they fought."

There's a point to all this, I know there is. Everything she's telling me is telling me something about my fellow tributes, that Brutus is a coward when faced with a stronger opponent and that there isn't a person in the most-feared and notorious district in Panem who doesn't fear Enobaria.

"Thank you," I say, smiling my true smile rather than the one the cameras get.

"I'll see you again, Cashmere," she replies. "Before the end."

Something about the way she says that and about the way she looks at me tells me that she knows I'm not imagining a world where I leave the arena alive. But I didn't tell her that, so how could she possibly know?

"How-?"

"You love Gloss," she whispers, making me strain to hear her over the noise that suddenly erupts as the Girl On Fire and Lover Boy make their entrance. "I'd say the amount you love your little brother is something close to how much I love my Velia. And I'd die for her in a heartbeat."

I nod once, not knowing what to say to that, and she smiles briefly before looking away. I quickly notice she's staring over my shoulder at the lift doors and I turn around in time to see Enobaria walking towards me. It's immediately obvious that Brutus is trailing along behind her rather than giving her permission to go ahead of him, however much he's trying to disguise it. He tries, but he doesn't have quite the same natural aura of aggression that Enobaria, Vikus and even Ursala achieve without making any effort at all. Or maybe I'm only thinking that because of what the woman who remains at my side just told me.

"I think he's the one with the secrets, not her," says Enobaria in a low voice as she stops a short distance from Ursala. She shifts from one foot to the other as if she can't bear even the thought of being still and it makes the embroidery on her black dress catch the light with every movement. "She's too stupid to hide anything."

I follow the direction of her gaze to see Finnick Odair and Katniss Everdeen standing by her chariot. Though I look away almost immediately, my eyes drift towards them again just as quickly.

I try to fight the anger that slowly rises up inside me as I watch her, the rational, sensible part of myself knowing that it isn't her fault that she didn't share my fate and realising that even if it was then I should be pleased she escaped the Victor's Game. However every move she makes is like rubbing salt in my wounds.

Odair approaches her slowly, totally over-the-top seductive in that way that makes Capitolian hearts race and me cringe, and still she stays where she is, letting him get right up close to her. If someone other than Falco had done that to me a year after my arena and six months after the final night of my Victory Tour then I'd have been on the other side of the courtyard by now and he or she would be on the way to hospital. But not naïve, innocent, unbroken little Katniss. She just stands there while Odair makes a fool of her, and it's only the arrival of Lover Boy that spoils his fun.

"She's making a fool of herself again," I whisper, sensing someone move to stand behind me and knowing it's Gloss without looking.

"It's one of the few things that seems to come naturally to her," he replies waspishly. "Come on, let's go," he continues, gesturing towards the District One chariot and its snowy-coloured horses.

I follow him without protest but I'm looking around the courtyard the whole time, searching for Falco despite how I know he won't be there. But I can't think about him. I can't think about anything but this Opening Ceremony. The only thing that matters for the next couple of hours is the performance.

"I hate this, Cash," says Gloss as he climbs up onto the chariot and holds his hand out to me. "I hate the way they all look at us. And they have the nerve to make us call this a celebration when it hurts so much."

I don't react for a minute and stare up at him instead, taking in his polished shoes, bejewelled cloak and angry eyes. But then I return to my senses and take his hand. He quickly pulls me up onto the chariot beside him and I shake my head.

"Don't talk like that here," I hiss. "You know better than that."

"Sometimes I can't help it," he replies. "They make me so angry that it's like I could burst with it."

"I know, Gloss. I know."

Even as I speak, I watch some of the officials as they group together and head over towards the gates. It's nearly time. Time for the moment virtually the whole Capitol's been waiting for.

I step to the front of the left side of the chariot, pushing my hair behind my bare, artificially golden shoulders, taking a deep breath and starting to replace the real Cashmere with the fake one the mob always sees. I'm almost there, allowing my mind to drift somewhere far away, but then I'm jolted back to reality when the soft material of Gloss's cloak drifts down to cover me as well as him.

"No, little brother. We'll need sponsorship before the end and Felix's plan is a good one. We need to make sure they remember who they're looking at."

"But I can't stand the way they look at you. I can almost see what they're thinking and I can't pretend I don't care."

"Let them look. It doesn't matter now," I reply, and even as I speak, I realise that it really doesn't matter. He won't sell me now because I'm a tribute in the Games and as I'm not planning on coming back… It seems that I've finally found a way to be free.

Gloss moves back, and even though there's still virtually no distance between us at all, I miss his warmth as much as miss that of the cloak.

"Let the Games begin," calls Brutus as he virtually jumps up onto the District Two chariot, scanning his surroundings in a way that tells me he's enjoying this far too much. Then he focuses on us and Gloss's grip on my hand tightens immediately. "I hear we might be allies."

"Perhaps," I reply noncommittally, shrugging my shoulders and looking around for the real boss of District Two's tributes this year.

She glides towards the chariot, trailing a hand along the neck of one of the black horses that pulls their chariot as she does. It sidesteps slightly, its innate sense of danger so strong that it even manages to overcome all of the training the creature's undoubtedly had before the officials allowed it to be shackled to one of the tribute chariots. Enobaria only smirks in response, the expression not reaching her cold grey eyes.

"Move over," she says to Brutus, and I notice straight away that he jumps to obey her without questioning, giving her over half of the space despite how she's a lot less than half his size. "Cashmere," she says, inclining her head ever so slightly to me before looking over my shoulder to Gloss. "Pretty Boy."

"That was a long time ago, Moreno," replies my brother. He's always hated that nickname but he's never been able to shake it. "The girl who called me that is long dead."

"But the name lives on," says Brutus, laughing to himself and making me think I may go insane before I even get in the arena if I have to spend too much time in his presence.

Gloss says nothing and looks away, turning his attention to the gates ahead of us as the officials throw them open and the music doubles in volume. I know a lot of those outside are waiting for District Twelve, and I can see them on every one of the massive wall-mounted screens visible from where I am. However I don't look back. I'm sure there'll be no escaping them for the next few days and I have no desire to increase the amount of time I have to spend looking at them out of choice.

* * *

><p>The parade through the streets of the city happens around me without requiring me to do anything other than stand on the chariot and smile. But it isn't as easy as it sounds when I suddenly wish I could throw every last one of those watching me into the arena and pick up my sword.<p>

When we first leave the Remake Centre, I wave to the brightly coloured people who seem to occupy every available space and they wave back, screaming for District One and Cashmere and Gloss. However after a while I can't carry on. They call for us like we're on our way to celebrate something good, but in reality twenty-three of us will be dead within a couple of weeks. They claim to love us and have made us famous, and yet that won't stop them from cheering as we fight and die in the arena. I hate them all.

About halfway to the City Circle, Gloss steps forwards to stand behind me, taking both of my hands in his so I couldn't wave even if I wanted to. I still don't.

By the time we reach the gates of the Training Centre and the shouting of the massive City Circle crowd fills my ears, I'm clinging to Gloss like my life depends on not letting go.

* * *

><p>Just as they did at the Remake Centre, a lot of the Victor-tributes and their mentors congregate together here, showing no sign of wanting to go upstairs. Beetee smiles sympathetically at me when he walks past, but other than that we are largely ignored. Whatever the circumstances, we're still the Career Tributes, and that means we're still hated and feared in virtually equal measure.<p>

"Cinna's done it again," says Felix as he appears by my side. "They're the centre of attention this time as well."

I follow the direction of my stylist's gaze to see the pair from District Twelve, their costumes still glowing like the embers of a fire as they wait for a lift to arrive to take them upstairs.

"And you know what being the centre of attention before the Games makes you, don't you? A target."

"That's Falco talking, isn't it?" replies Felix instantly. "He's told you to kill Everdeen."

"And he's obviously told you his plans already," I say, the surprise I feel that Falco told anyone else what he told me three months ago plain to hear in my voice.

"No," he says softly. "I just know him. And I know how hard he's trying to think of something that will save you."

I don't know what to say to that so I stare over his shoulder instead so I don't have to look into his eyes. That's when I see her, styled to perfection and standing a short distance from the gate to the City Circle. She smirks at me and nods in Gloss's direction, and her expression doesn't change when I shake my head. I sigh deeply and glare back, but she only nods again.

"Gloss," I say, tugging his arm. "You've got a visitor. I'm going upstairs."

"I'll just be a minute," he replies.

"You won't," I say, sighing with not-quite-genuine disapproval. "But I don't feel like being a hypocrite tonight."

He smiles softly and kisses the top of my head before weaving towards Narissa through the groups of people still gathered in the courtyard. I watch the Capitolian woman exchange a few words with one of the officials before both she and my brother slip away through what I assume is a side door.

"I'd go upstairs if I were you," whispers Felix. "Word will get round that everyone's still down here and the reporters will descend in their thousands."

I do as he says straight away, letting him guide me to a lift and then pressing the button that will take me up to Level One. Falco's bound to be there waiting for me. Isn't he? I can't think of anywhere else he'd have gone.

I walk into the dining room without thinking, seeing the sliver of light through the gap at the bottom of the door and assuming I'll find Falco there, watching the ceremony so he knows when I'll be back. However the person I find there is someone entirely different and a lot less welcome.

"So, Cashmere," says Lace, uncurling her legs from underneath her and turning to face me, her pale blue eyes shining in the dim light. "How are you enjoying your final days?"

"What have I ever done to you?" I reply, her comment cutting more deeply than it would have done before all this happened. "What did I do to make you hate me so much?"

"You really have no idea, do you?" she says, laughing softly to herself. The sound isn't a happy one. "You really don't remember."

I shake my head, feeling more angry than hurt now. I honestly have no idea what she's talking about and am starting to think this is some cruel joke of hers, designed and planned with the sole purpose of trying to make me even more miserable than I already am.

"That's because there's nothing to remember, is there, Lace? You just get some perverse pleasure out of hating me."

"I don't just hate _you_, Cashmere," she snarls. "I hate your whole family. Your father destroyed mine and he didn't even notice."

I'd been storming across the room towards her, intending to be close enough for her to look into my eyes when I tell her what I really think, but her words make me pause. Back when he was at the height of his power, my father took control of many of District One's smaller workshops and associated businesses, overpowering those they belonged to by sheer force of will and not a little support from wealthy clients in the Capitol. It's possible that Lace's family was one of the ones he destroyed in the process, but even so, I don't see what that has to do with me.

"I'm not my father, Lace. My family isn't one man, certainly not any more."

She looks at me, staring unblinkingly across the short distance with such emotion in her expression that I eventually find myself having to fight the urge to turn away. I make myself hold her gaze though. I despised my father but I'm still a de Montfort. I will never bow down to the likes of her.

"Cast your mind back nearly thirteen years, Cashmere," she says, her voice little more than a whisper which I have to strain to hear. "It was a bright, sunny day in District One, and there were three young people walking along together, laughing and smiling with not a care in the world. Two young women, one blonde and one dark, and a boy who was well on his way to becoming a man even though he still seemed the youngest."

"Where are you going with this?" I snap, my heart sinking already even though I can only just about begin to guess a very tiny portion of it.

"Patience," she replies with false-sweetness that would put Narissa to shame. "Patience. As I was saying, eventually they came across an old workshop, and because they knew their father had just taken control of it they thought they'd have a look around."

I take a reluctant step towards her so I can lean against the back of one of the sofas, my eyes never leaving hers.

"'Look at this place,' said the dark-haired girl to the others. 'I'm surprised anyone could bear to work in here. I've never seen such a mess.'."

When I hear Lace say that, I'm suddenly transported back into a memory that I'd forgotten until now. I remember the old workshop, the way I strode down the central walkway of the main hall with Sapphire on my one side and Gloss on the other. I remember the snobbish disapproval I affected because it always made my siblings laugh, the way I wrote my name in the dust on the supervisor's table. But what I don't remember is the presence of anyone else.

"Now you remember, don't you? I can see it in your eyes that you do."

"There was nobody there but us," I say. "We were alone in there. Or we thought we were."

"That's right. You _thought _you were. You didn't see the girl sitting in the corner behind the boxes that contained the last jewels my father's workshop ever cut. You didn't see her as you so casually mocked the father she loved more than anyone and anything in the world and everything he'd spent his whole life trying to preserve."

"I didn't know. I was little more than a child. And you can't hold me responsible for the way things are done in District One. Are you seriously telling me that your father wouldn't have trampled over mine if their positions had been reversed?"

"My father's a good man!" she shouts back, showing more emotion than I thought her capable of. "And he didn't deserve what happened. He didn't deserve to watch me fight in the arena because it was the only option I had to prevent my family from having to work like slaves for someone like your stupid father."

"You had a choice, Lace. I didn't destroy your family and I certainly didn't make you race for the stage on reaping day. But you go right ahead and believe what you will if it helps you sleep at night. But I want you to make sure you remember what you've said tonight when this is all over. Make sure you think long and hard about it when you take my body back to District One. And make sure you decide to never utter a word of it to Gloss. He's been through enough without having someone dump something else on his conscience."

She stares at me then, perhaps struck dumb by my revelation that I have no intention of leaving the arena alive, and by the time she opens her mouth to speak I'm already turning away. I spin around and race out of the door before she can speak a word, sprinting down the corridor and straight into the person who was coming the other way. When I realise who that person is, I hold onto him like I'm never ever going to let go.


	22. Chapter 22

_Before I leave you to get on with reading this chapter, I think it's only fair that I say that this one earns every bit of the T rating and probably a bit more for language, themes and Enobaria in general. _

_To explain myself a little, I first created my version of Enobaria when I was writing 'Love is a Battlefield', which at the time I thought would be my last story - in other words, I thought that with the exception of a couple of lines of dialogue and a brief description, she'd exist only in my head (a place that can be a lot darker than anything that ever makes it directly into the story ;)). At the time I chose not to write about her in any great detail even though some people asked me to, but now I've changed my mind because I'm quite attached to her as a character and so I think she deserves an explanation for why she is the way she is. But I could live to regret posting it. In fact I think I'm regretting it already..._

Chapter Twenty-Two

Falco carried me down the corridor instead of waiting for me to recover and stop crying, taking me to the room that will be mine until the Games start for real, running a bath and then washing every trace of both my tears and the gold paint from my skin before finally lifting me onto the bed. He pulled the blankets tight around me and we sat up for most of the night talking, but he didn't mention the arena and neither did I. When there's nothing left to say that either of us want to hear then sometimes ignoring the subject is better.

I finally went to sleep just as the sun was rising, and for once I stayed that way, the nightmares that usually disturb my peace choosing to leave me alone just for once. That was until Lace knocked on the door at about half past nine. Well I say knocked, but it would probably be more accurate to say that Lace hammered on the door until I began to think it would cave in. I ignored her totally and eventually she gave up, leaving me with a brand new level of appreciation and respect for District Seven craftsmanship.

"Are you going to training?" asks Falco an hour later, narrowing his eyes at me slightly.

"I'd rather stay here," I reply, sitting up and trying to drag the blankets with me. It doesn't really work with Falco sat at the bottom of the bed.

"Stay then. It's not like you need to go, not every day. I can't imagine some of the others going."

"I can't imagine some of the others being capable of getting themselves to the gymnasium," I say, feeling a mixture of disgust and pity at the thought of the Victors who have resorted to drink and drugs to keep their memories at bay. "But I should go. Sometimes they give clues about the arena."

He nods but I can tell he doesn't want me to go. "They probably won't give a lot away this year. Watching you all trying to work it out will be part of the entertainment for them," he replies bitterly, but he smiles as I hold out my hand and pull him back up the bed when he takes it.

I curl up against him once he settles down beside me, but just as I get comfortable there's another knock at the door. It's softer this time, but no less persistent.

"I know you're still in there, Cash. Get up. We've got to go."

"Not today, Gloss," I call back. "I'll go tomorrow."

"Today," he answers. "Come to the door or I'll come in there and drag you downstairs."

"What's with him?" I whisper to Falco as he reluctantly pushes me away.

I smile when he shrugs his shoulders confusedly in reply, and then I pull my robe on before heading to the door. I open it to reveal an anxious looking Gloss, all ready for training. He raises his eyebrows immediately in response to my state of undress.

"Training, Cash. You know the rules."

"Why are you in such a rush to follow the rules all of a sudden?" I reply, reaching up to neaten the collar of his shirt. "And more to the point, where were you last night?"

"Out," he answers, at least having the decency to look slightly guilty.

"You should have told me if you were going to run off with Narissa all night."

"Who says I was with Narissa all night?"

"No one. But the look on your face tells me all I need to know."

"Don't look so disapproving, sister mine," he replies, straightening my dishevelled hair and grinning down at me. "That would be a little hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Pardon?" I say, pretending to take offence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"So if I were to call Falco then he wouldn't answer because he isn't there?" he asks, looking meaningfully over my shoulder.

"That's not the point," I reply, lowering my gaze to my feet because I know the gesture of an embarrassment that I don't truly feel will make him laugh.

"Come to training with me. Please."

"I will," I say, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. "Should I go like this? It would give them something to talk about."

"I don't think it would create the right impression if you're thinking of talking to Moreno," he replies, smiling and pushing me back into my room. "Go and change. I'll wait for you out here."

I do as he says, quickly exchanging my robe for something more suitable, but then I make the mistake of stopping beside the bed as I finish buttoning my shirt. When I look at Falco, I'm suddenly nowhere near as eager to go to training.

"Go," he says, reading my thoughts like he usually does. "Gloss needs you too. And if you watch the others then you might learn something useful."

"So I should go to training just to watch all of the others?" I say, half teasing and half totally serious. "Even the dreaded Girl Who Should Be Set Alight?"

"Yes," he replies instantly. "Know your enemy. That's what Achillea always told Narissa and what she always told me."

"But I don't think my true enemy is going into the arena with me."

"Cashmere! We've got to go!"

I roll my eyes when I hear Gloss calling me but I turn to go anyway. Falco grabs my hand and pulls me down so he can kiss me, and my brother immediately knocks the door again. I swear he can either see through wood or he can read my mind. Or maybe he just knows me too well.

* * *

><p>It's gone quarter to eleven by the time we get to the gymnasium, over three-quarters of an hour after the official start of training, but the first thing I notice is that only about half of the Victor-tributes are here. After seeing the ruined and shattered remnants of some of the children I watched win the Games on Satin's recordings as they were paraded through the Capitol last night, I have no idea why I'm surprised.<p>

A loud laugh attracts my attention immediately, and I turn in the direction of what looks to be the knife-throwing station to see a group of tributes all standing together and doing more talking than practicing. At the centre of the group is Peeta Mellark, going a long way towards proving my suspicion that if District Twelve form any arena alliances then he'll be the one making them. It certainly won't be his district partner who the would-be-rebels are already calling their Mockingjay. From what I've seen so far, to say she looks about as socially adept as Lace would actually be insulting my mentor.

"Fancy joining them?" asks Gloss, his expression telling me that there are few things he'd hate more.

"I don't think so," I reply, smiling when he gives a small sigh of relief and then leading him to the sword-fighting station. I might not be what I used to be but I would still bet I could easily defeat all but three of the people in this room if I had a decent sword. "I think we should give them all something to think about instead."

When I pick up a sword identical to the long, thin blade I fought with last time I was a tribute, it's more of a struggle to fight the memories it makes me recall than it is to fight the trainer who steps forward to meet me. I shake my head to clear it, unintentionally sending the clip I'd used to hold my hair back flying to the floor and my hair cascading down around my face and shoulders. A lot of the others stop what they're doing to look at me, perhaps thinking I did it intentionally, and the sight of their eyes following me strengthens my resolve. I can't think of what happened in the past. I have to think about the future. And if I can't pick up a sword and fight then I can't save Gloss in the arena.

The trainer doesn't last long after I've remembered that, and he soon raises his sword, stepping back to allow his colleague to take over. As they exchange places I sense someone watching me, and when I look to the side it's to find Enobaria staring unblinkingly back as she twists a knife around and around in her hand.

"Can I help you?" I call, but she doesn't reply and I return my attention to the trainers so I don't give her the satisfaction of knowing how intimidating I find her.

However my determination not to look back lasts all of two seconds, and when I find her once more, it's just in time to see her send the knife flying across the gymnasium into the centre of the furthest target. She misses her district partner's head by such a narrow margin that I hear the sword-fighting trainer gasp in response, but she merely smirks and looks away. I scan the room to see that a lot of the others are watching her too.

"I saw her last night," whispers Gloss, his voice so quiet that I barely hear him. "I looked out of the window when it was starting to get light and she was there, dressed all in black and leaving the apartment block opposite."

"How did you know it was her? And what apartment block? Where?"

"I recognised her," he replies. "She isn't exactly inconspicuous, is she?"

"Fair enough," I say, narrowing my eyes at him. "But you didn't answer my other question."

"The apartment block opposite Narissa's," he answers eventually. "But what she was doing outside the Training Centre at that time of night, I have no idea."

I shrug my shoulders, quickly realising that I have no idea either. If she'd been virtually anyone else then I'd have decided she'd been doing the same as Gloss, but this is Enobaria Moreno, and that means there's no way. So what was she doing?

"Let's go and have a look around," says Gloss, interrupting my thoughts as he takes my arm and leads me across the gymnasium, as far away from the woman from District Two as we can go.

"We're going to have to go for the alliance, you know that," I reply, but when he ignores me I don't push it.

We spend the rest of the morning drifting around the weapons stations, occasionally stopping at some of the others but never staying for long. I try to guess something about the arena from what I'm seeing but nothing I see seems to help. There's a station dedicated to shelter building, one to making fires and another to identifying edible plants, but I struggle to see how they've changed from the last time I saw them nine years ago. In the end I return to the swords because driving the trainers backwards across the room using all the force I can muster makes me feel a little better than I did before.

All the time I can feel the eyes of the Gamemakers following every move I make, despite how I know that logically they can't be watching me constantly. Occasionally I forget to stop myself from looking up into the stands, and each time I do, I'm drawn to Plutarch Heavensbee. He sits there in the fur lined purple robe of the Head Gamemaker, eating and drinking with his colleagues, seeming so totally at home that I find it difficult to believe such a man could be the new mastermind behind the revolution. Or I would if it wasn't for the one or two occasions where our eyes meet. It's only for a split second each time, but when I look at him I know.

However perhaps that's just wishful thinking, and there's still a tiny part of me I can't quite crush that hopes someone like Heavensbee will turn around on the last day of training and announce that this is all just a big joke. Either that or he'll storm into the next government meeting with his rebel soldiers and depose the president. I'd stand by his side in a heartbeat if he said he'd do it before Arena Day. I'd even stand next to Everdeen. Or I'd think about it anyway.

When the head trainer announces that it's time for lunch, I wish we could just keep training. I don't want to stop, because stopping means I have time to think, and that's the last thing I want right now. However all activity in the gymnasium ceases so quickly that it's like someone flicked a switch and I know I have no choice.

* * *

><p>The small dining room looks exactly as I remember it, the only difference being the tables, which are spread out around the room rather than being linked together in two parallel lines across the room. That doesn't last long though, as some of the others drag them together so we'll all have to sit in a big group. I scowl viciously when I see Finnick Odair at the centre of attention as usual, but if he notices then he doesn't let it show.<p>

"At least Mason's decided to dress for dinner," says Gloss dryly, and I scan the group until I find the girl from District Seven who spent much of the morning naked at the wrestling station.

Much to my relief she's now fully dressed, which is a considerable improvement on earlier even though her clothes clash so much that it must be deliberate.

"One less thing to put me off my food," I reply, shaking my head disapprovingly at the girl's lack of modesty and deliberately walking further into the room to put as much distance between us as possible. I know from experience that if we're within shouting distance of each other then there will be an argument going in a matter of seconds.

We're soon joined at our end of the table by Brutus, proving that the divide between those referred to as 'Careers' and the rest will always exist no matter what the circumstances are. When I ask him where his district partner is he quickly replies that he doesn't know, looking almost nervously around as if he expects her to jump out and attack him if he doesn't. I exchange bemused glances with my brother but make no comment, and we spend the rest of the hour in silence, listening to the often loud and raucous conversation of the others in the hope that we'll learn something useful. I don't.

* * *

><p>"Now what?" asks Gloss as we head back into the gymnasium with the rest of the group.<p>

I stop in the doorway, earning us a fierce glare from the attendant in charge of the dining room, who appears to be in something of a hurry to clear up and leave.

"Okay, we're going," I reply, smiling at him with false sweetness and taking a step forwards so he can close the door behind us.

"What?" says Gloss as soon as we stop again, leaning down so his head is next to mine and nobody will be able to overhear. "I recognise that look, Cash. What is it?"

"I want to talk to District Twelve," I say, finally telling him what I've been thinking about all morning even though I know he isn't going to like it.

"Why in Panem would you want to do that?" he hisses back incredulously.

"I'm curious," I reply. "I can't help it. I want to see if she's as uninspiring up close as she is from a distance."

"I think we both know the answer to that without having to…associate with her," he says, his every word dripping with disgust at the thought of having to speak to the dreaded Katniss Everdeen.

"I'm still curious," I say, "but I won't do it if you think you'll end up killing her."

"I won't," he replies with a slight smile. "Not until we're in the arena anyway."

"That's settled then," I say, suddenly remembering Falco's earlier words and wondering if the real reason I want to get close to the girl is so I can work out how best to kill her myself.

After rapidly deciding that deliberately placing Katniss and Gloss at the same weapons station would be a really bad idea, I come to the conclusion that hammock-making is probably the safest option. Gloss obediently stands there while I invite the girl to join us, but as she makes her way over, I find it difficult to tell who is more reluctant, her or my brother. I think Gloss just about wins that battle, and he very obviously struggles to even be civil to her, but the more I watch Katniss, the more convinced I am that her interaction with the other tributes is something she's been told to do rather than something she's doing out of choice. She's polite to us in a formal way but nothing more, and I find it easier to watch her than I do to talk to her.

Just as I expected, she's quite unremarkable really. Tiny in the malnourished way I've often seen in District Twelve's tributes, but not to the same extent as most of the others. A young girl who appears even younger up close until I look into her grey eyes. She might look like little more than a child but her eyes are old, the eyes of someone who's seen a lot despite her youth. Though I suspect she's innocent of some things, if the way she reacts to Finnick Odair and some of the others who've taken to tormenting her is anything to go by, I sincerely doubt she's anywhere near as innocent about others as many people believe. Then when I think that I have to look away in case I reveal my true feelings. If she hadn't had her Lover Boy then she'd have been like me, and there'd have been one less thing for her to be innocent of by now. I shouldn't hate her for it but I do.

I quickly give up on my feeble attempt at a hammock and decide to help Gloss because he seems to be doing a much better job, but the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight persists with a stubborn determination even though her skills are clearly little better than mine. However she remains sullen the whole time and is obviously thinking of something else.

Though she speaks of Peeta fondly when I ask her, I'm more certain than ever that she doesn't love him. Her eyes remain almost dead-looking even when she talks about him, and I know from what Gloss has told me that the only time my feelings are displayed for all to see is when I talk about Falco.

I'm even more relieved than I thought I'd be when she excuses herself and drifts away in the direction of another station. Gloss laughs when he sees her at the sword-fighting station with Enobaria, commenting that we must be bad if she'd rather face the woman from District Two while she has a weapon in her hand. I laugh along with him but my mind is still on Katniss.

There's something bothering me about her, something about the look in her eyes that hints at a resolve I think I recognise because I know I share it. We might not be fighting to achieve the same thing, but she's as determined to fight as I am, and that comforts me slightly despite everything. If she's going to die then at least she might prove a worthy martyr for Heavensbee's cause.

* * *

><p>I'm walking towards the spear-throwing station a couple of hours later, expecting Mags to hobble past me without a word, but the elderly woman from the fishing district surprises me by reaching out and tugging my sleeve to stop me. She's stronger than I expected, but the stroke she suffered a couple of years ago has robbed her of most of her power of speech so she remains silent and gestures behind me instead.<p>

I turn around to see Katniss Everdeen at the archery station, firing arrows into the air as the trainer sends what appear to be pretend birds flying upwards for her to hit. Like with Clove Jacia and her knives last year, the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight and her arrows never miss. The old woman from District Four and I aren't the only people in the room who stop to stare.

After she shoots down five of the pretend birds in quick succession, she finally realises she has an audience and lowers her bow. She stares around at us with an expression that appears to be a mixture of embarrassment and defiance, but she says nothing and quickly replaces the bow on the table before walking away towards her district partner.

When I look around I can see a number of whispered conversations going on as people point and stare in District Twelve's direction. Enobaria growls under her breath and flings her knife across the length of the room so it ends up embedded in the wood panelling. Only when it finally stops quivering does the low buzz of noise that usually fills the room restart.

* * *

><p>It's towards the end of the afternoon that I see the headline of the newspaper, when I've finally finished looking up at the clock and am walking past one of the stations that's been deserted by everyone but the trainer. He sits there with his feet propped up on another chair, reading a paper because he's long since given up hope of having any tributes to talk to. Therefore his expression is one of shock when I slowly approach him.<p>

"Can I look at that?" I ask, trembling as I reach out for it.

"You can keep it," he replies, pushing it into my hand. "We're almost done for the day anyway."

I smile distractedly back and take it, shaking it out so I can see the front page. I almost drop it when I find myself looking into the artificially yellow eyes of the man who has haunted my nightmares since the last night of my Victory Tour, but I hold on tight and make myself read it. He's dead. Stabbed to death in his own apartment.

"What's wrong, Cash?" asks Gloss, standing behind me and leaning over my shoulder so he can read as well. "Did you know him?"

"You could say that," I reply darkly. "He's dead now."

"You look upset, de Montfort," sings Johanna Mason as she and a small group of other Victors approach us. "Another one of your Capitol boyfriends met an untimely end?"

"Go away, District Seven," I snarl back. "I haven't got time to waste on you."

"Are you going to miss a training day to go to the funeral? So you can weep and put flowers on his grave?"

The only time I'd want to see that bastard's grave would be when I dance on it, I think to myself, but to Johanna I give no reply and look back down at the paper in attempt to conceal my anger. Seeing the part of the article that says he was found dead in his apartment makes me feel better immediately.

"Don't bother," snarls Gloss, stepping from behind me to stand by my side as Johanna no doubt starts to say something else.

I half look at him but quickly look back at the paper. 'Stabbed to death in his apartment at some time last night', it says. And that apartment which is then described is in the block opposite Narissa's. I scan the gymnasium and my eyes immediately fall on Enobaria. Who did Gloss say he saw there last night? I've been raised in a place that's made me see conspiracies and intrigue everywhere, so maybe it's crazy, my mind working overtime and nothing more, but when I look at the woman from Two it all makes sense.

All of the rumours I've heard, all of what Ursala's told me over the years about Enobaria and how she's never been part of Snow's business venture with the Victors. She must do something to keep herself from it because I only have to look at her and remember the way Marius reacts to the sight of her to know there'd be no shortage of demand. And yet she remains detached from it. How? Snow would need assassins he could easily distance himself from. There are few people in Panem as lethal as Enobaria Moreno. It all makes sense. It's mad, but it all makes sense.

"So overcome with grief that you can't speak?" says Johanna, once more in that sing-song voice that makes me want to hit her.

It takes a huge effort but I turn my back on her in disgust and walk away, stepping into Gloss so I take him with me. I haven't got time for people like Johanna Mason. And that thought has never felt more literal than it does now.

"I know I'm stealing your line but I'm going to say it anyway. Just leave it, Cash. She isn't worth it."

"I know," I reply, letting him guide me over to the lifts as I decide I've had more than enough of training today. "I know."

"Let's go then," he urges, and I'm about to follow him when I see Enobaria stop just before she disappears from sight through the door that leads from the gymnasium.

She looks back at me for the briefest of moments, nodding in the direction of the corridor. I stop and stare, temporarily ignoring Gloss and seeing nothing but her as she spins lightly on her heel and walks away.

"Go upstairs," I tell my brother, still staring at the space the woman from Two used to occupy. "I'll be there in a minute."

I can tell he saw Enobaria as well by the way he looks at me, but to my surprise he doesn't try to stop me from going after her. He shrugs, tells me to be careful, and then presses the button for Level One. The next second the doors have slid closed and he is gone.

* * *

><p>The last time I wandered these corridors was last year when I saw Cato and Clove, and it's the same route I take now, looking around each corner and finding it harder and harder to remain calm with every step I take. There's no sign of Enobaria until I eventually notice a nondescript door that's slightly ajar. All the rest are firmly closed.<p>

"I think this is where we discuss whether or not we can work together in an arena without killing each other, de Montfort," she says in that quietly menacing voice she has as soon as I've walked inside the storeroom and closed the door behind me. "At least until the time comes to fight."

I watch silently as she paces around and around the tiny space, laughing inside when I realise that more than anything else, I feel flattered that she thinks there's even the smallest chance I could actually kill her. I was lethal nine years ago. I killed and made fighting look easy. But now? Now is different. I'd barely picked up a sword since I left my arena until three months ago, and I shudder at the thought of how much Felix had to let out the fabric of my Opening Ceremony dress. I look at Enobaria in her fitted tunic and leggings, which look like District Two standard issue even though I don't see how they can be when we're here in the Capitol, and it's immediately obvious that she didn't stop training.

"I think we can manage for a short time," I reply, determined not to show weakness by letting her see my doubts and fears. "And then we'll see what happens. But if we're making deals then Gloss and I come as a pair or it's not happening."

"Everyone knows the de Montfort siblings, Cashmere," she replies, still ceaselessly pacing backwards and forwards like a caged animal. "I wouldn't expect any different. Although I'm curious to see what will happen if you have to fight each other."

"You wouldn't be alive to see it even if it happened, which it never will."

"So you plan to die for Little Brother," she says, speaking in the false voice a person might use when speaking to a child. "How sweet. Such a shame that he's going to die as well."

"Someone saw you," I snarl, my words coming out in a rush before I can stop myself in my desperation to think about anything else but Gloss's cannon firing. "Leaving that apartment block at dawn."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," she says, her voice low but ice-cold.

I put the newspaper I haven't quite been able to bring myself to let go of down on the shelf between us, still unable to stop myself from looking away when I see those yellow eyes staring relentlessly back at me from the front page. Enobaria finally stops pacing to stand a short distance from me, gazing down at the paper with eyes as sharp as the knives Clove Jacia wielded in the arena.

"What's your point?"

"You did this," I reply, deciding that I've come this far so I might as well tell her what I've worked out. "And I'm sure it isn't the first time." And then my mind freezes when another thought grips me and won't let go. "You killed Vespasian as well, didn't you?"

"Just say that I did kill him," she says eventually, gesturing down at the paper and pretending she didn't hear me mention Vespasian before pushing her almost-black hair behind her shoulders and leaning back against the wall with that casual self-assurance I've come to associate with her district's Victors. "I would expect you to be thanking me."

"Why would you expect that?" I ask guardedly, wondering exactly when she turned this conversation around to her advantage.

"You're not stupid, de Montfort," she retorts, her grey eyes flashing with the anger that never ever leaves them. "So stop wasting my time by pretending to be. I know what he did to you when you came here on your Victory Tour."

"How?" I gasp, suddenly unable to say any more than that one word as I temporarily forget who I'm talking to.

"I know lots of things," she replies cryptically. "Things that would shock even you."

"I very much doubt that," I tell her, but as when I've been this close to her on previous occasions, there's something terrifying about her that makes me take a fearful step backwards before I can think to stop myself.

"You can doubt all you like," she says, sounding almost amused. "But that doesn't make it any less true."

I laugh then, not really because of what she said but more because of the way she said it. She talks like someone from my family or one of the other wealthy families back home. She sounds like Satin. She doesn't sound like the majority of her district's other Victors any more than she looks like them, and that only makes me wonder why. It makes me long to ask her how much of the gossip is real and how many of the rumours I've heard about her over the years are true. But when she clenches her fists as if she knows what I'm thinking, I'm not sure that I dare.

"Yes," she says eventually when it becomes obvious to her I'm not going to find the words to reply. Her voice is totally flat and emotionless despite what she's telling me. "I did kill him. If you really want to know then he tried to run away from me and then begged for his pitiful life before I pushed the knife in ever so ever so slowly so he felt every last millimetre. And if you tell anyone then I'll do the same to you."

I think of him, of how I still cringe and shiver in disgust sometimes because I can still feel his hands on me despite the many years that have passed. Then I stare across at Enobaria, disturbed to find that the only regret I feel is that I didn't hold the knife myself.

"I'd fight you back," I retort finally, finding my courage from somewhere. "And I never beg."

She laughs. "I could make you," she says. "But I never would. That's something I save for Capitol scum like him."

I'm too shocked to speak for a minute when she says that. District Two has always been the Capitol's favourite district and its Victors generally the most celebrated. It sounds odd to hear such anti-Capitol sentiment coming from the lips of someone like Enobaria.

"You must be as out of your mind as they say if you think you'll get away with it."

"But Cashmere, I will get away with it. You see, I'm only following orders," she replies, her tone ensuring I don't need to ask whose orders she means.

"But…"

"You fuck who he tells you to fuck and I kill who he tells me to kill. The principle's the same."

I gaze flatly back at her, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral by thinking about how unexpected it still is that I have to look down at her rather than the other way around. Just as it did the first time I met her before my own Games, her presence makes her seem a lot taller and stronger than she actually is.

She gazes unblinkingly back at me and I smile sarcastically in response. Enobaria Moreno might know a lot more than most but she doesn't know everything. She doesn't know how many years have passed since the president last sold me for real.

"Why do you kill for him?" I ask, knowing I probably shouldn't and that I should get back onto the relatively safe topic of arena alliances before getting out of here as fast as I can.

She laughs, a cold and humourless sound that fills the tiny room.

"You expect me to believe that Barbieri hasn't told you what all of District Two knows?"

"People say I sleep in a room furnished entirely in solid gold, that I never wear the same piece of clothing twice and that I've had a thousand different lovers," I reply evenly. "Both you and I know that most of what people say is total rubbish."

"Perhaps," she says, stepping towards me until she's that close I can see the light dusting of freckles on her nose. "But I'm more useful to him if I kill the people he tells me to kill rather than if I kill the people who would buy my body from him."

"Is it true?" I whisper, speaking before I can stop myself. "The story of what happened to you."

"That I was the only one to survive the night they came to punish my father for not paying his debts? Yes, it's true. I had the scars to prove it until the Capitol took them away. Now I only have the ones nobody can see."

I look down into her cold grey eyes and find myself disagreeing with what she said. She might call the scars she still has 'mental scars', but every time I've ever looked at her, I've always thought they burn more brightly than the physical ones ever did.

"They killed your family?"

She doesn't answer for several minutes and eventually I look away, feeling almost relieved. From everything I've heard and been told, I don't think this is a story I really want to hear. But that doesn't stop me from hanging on her every word in horrified silence when she finally speaks, staring into the distance as if she doesn't even realise I'm there.

"There were six of them, sent by the man my father betrayed and was apparently indebted to. Or that's what I was told later. I didn't know it then. They made him watch them kill my mother and said that if he didn't give them what they wanted then they'd do the same to me and Sibilla. He couldn't give them what he didn't have, and he told them that over and over again. He screamed and shouted and when that didn't work he cried. And I'd never seen my father cry. But we were such pretty girls, Cashmere," she says, and my stomach twists uncomfortably as I realise everything Ursala told me was true, " so I don't think it really mattered what Father said. When they were done with us, they killed him as an example to anyone else who might have been thinking they could get away with cheating the man they worked for. I was the only one alive when the Peacekeepers came and they wouldn't let me die even though I wanted to so badly."

I step back, stumbling over the shelf until I'm by the door. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare pity me, de Montfort," she growls. "The girl who was Alerio's daughter and Sibilla's sister is dead. Along with every man who was in that house that night and the one they worked for. They begged for their lives as well. For days and days and it was the sweetest music I've ever heard."

"I…"

When Ursala told me the story, she told me of how the Peacekeepers had to sedate the youngest daughter of Alerio Moreno before they could prise her hand from that of her dead sister, and then of how Vikus Cortez took the fourteen-year-old Enobaria from the Community Hospital once she was physically healed and trained her so she could have her vengeance. Her part of the deal was that she won the Hunger Games when she was eighteen, his was that he helped her kill those who destroyed her and murdered those she loved. From what I've just heard, it seems neither of them went back on their word.

"I do pity you because I understand how it feels," I reply, and I regret my words before I've even finished speaking both because of the memories they make me recall and because of the look on Enobaria's face.

"You think you do because Snow sold you and some Capitolian or fifty had their way with you, but you don't," she snarls, baring her teeth at me so they flash as they reflect the dim overhead light. "I was a child, I didn't understand. All I could hear was Sibilla screaming and crying and them shouting at her to shut up. I tried to help her but I was so weak that I couldn't do anything, and then when they did the same to me, I screamed and cried as well. You can't imagine the pain, de Montfort. You can't imagine the humiliation and the rage and the grief. So don't tell me you know how it feels because you don't and you never will."

"Maybe not. But you killed Vespasian. He was a good man. He didn't deserve his fate any more than your family deserved theirs. How are you any better than any of those men who came to your house that night?"

"I never said I was," she replies. "But when Vikus told me I was ready to fight, I made myself a promise. Never again, I said, and I mean to keep it until the day I die. There's one man we're all powerless against, and if I don't do as I'm told then you know what the alternative is. And I said never again."

I open my mouth to respond but I stop myself when she turns away and instantly turns back. The look on her face I see now couldn't be more different from the one I saw only a couple of seconds before. It's almost like someone's flicked a switch inside her, turning virtually all of her emotions off so all that remains is the anger that never quite fades.

Something makes me react, I don't know what, but when she springs towards me with a knife that appeared from nowhere in her hand, I only just manage to spin away. I pull my own dagger free from where it's strapped to my arm and use it to block her blade, not really feeling able to process what's happening. I didn't know I still had reflexes like that, and I don't know whether to be pleased I've retained some of the skill I once possessed or saddened that I have no choice but to return to who I once was.

"What is this?" I snarl, backing away from Enobaria with my dagger raised.

She just looks at me, her expression unreadable, and then as quickly as her attack started, it ends.

"Good," she says, making her knife vanish back up her sleeve with a casual flick of her wrist I know I could never hope to emulate.

"I don't need your approval," I snap back immediately, my anger giving me courage.

She smirks back, looking at me like she didn't even hear what I said.

"I was hoping you wouldn't have gone completely soft," she says lightly. "Allies then. But watch your back in the arena."

Then she reaches for the door, watching me the whole time, and before I know it I'm alone.

* * *

><p><em>Don't forget to reassure me you're still reading if you've got this far :P <em>


	23. Chapter 23

_As ever, this chapter is for all of you who read and review, but I'd like to mention be-nice-to-nerds, Obiwanlivesforever and PK9, who are all fans of District 3. When you've read the chapter you'll understand why. _

_I hope Caisha + a relatively major canon character doesn't equal a really bad idea... Let me know what you think ;) _

Chapter Twenty-Three

I didn't realise how tense being so close to Enobaria had made me until she left. It took me the entire time I needed to get back to Level One to make myself stop shaking. And what a great start that is. We're not even in the arena yet and I'm already acting like an untrained little girl in the presence of the woman who is both my supposed ally and my biggest threat. Or should I say Gloss's biggest threat. Maybe that's the same thing.

But at least I've achieved something. At least I have an ally now, even though she's a very tenuous one who will turn on me the second it suits her. It's still progress. It's still something to focus on so I don't have time to think about anything else, so I don't have time to wonder what it will feel like to stand on one of the podiums at the start of the Games and see my brother standing there with me.

"So what did the Capitol's favourite psychopath have to say?" asks Gloss as soon as he sees me, his tone completely at odds with his concerned expression.

"Allies," I reply, suddenly not wanting to talk about what else Enobaria said, not even to my brother. "For now."

"What did Everdeen do in training?" asks Falco, changing the subject completely as he walks down the corridor to stand behind me. He quickly pushes me fully into the dining room before following and closing the door firmly behind himself.

"Shot a lot of arrows," I reply, trying to sound casual because I can just about cope with the concept of fearing Enobaria Moreno but am horrified at the thought of feeling even vaguely similarly about the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight. "Why?"

"Because more than half of the others have requested her as an ally. Formally instead of in the usual way. I overheard Ursala telling Vikus that Brutus wants the girl in the Old Alliance."

"No," I reply flatly. "I won't ally with her. No."

Falco looks at me then, seemingly startled by my vehemence although I've no idea why when he knows exactly how I feel about her, and I meet his eyes steadily. Gloss won't fight alongside District Twelve and neither will I. Not even if refusing to do so means we're on our own in the arena.

"It won't happen anyway," says Falco, smirking slightly. "Everdeen won't fight with those she's always seen as the enemy and Vikus laughed when Ursala told him what Brutus said. He said Enobaria would never agree and that the only person Brutus truly fears his district partner. He fears her more than he could ever want the District Twelve alliance. Or words to that effect. You can imagine what he really said."

"Good. Because she said she'd fight with us. I was just telling Gloss."

"And do you trust her?" he asks immediately, as if it was what he'd been thinking all along.

"No," I reply equally as quickly. "But as long as I don't then it's fine. I can deal with her."

He stares back at me without speaking, like there's something he wants to say but he doesn't know how to. But in the end he just tells me to be careful as he sits on the sofa, pulling me down next to him.

"Where are Lace and Fortune?" I ask eventually, when the silence becomes too much to bear.

I haven't seen my mentor since last night, and though I have no wish to spend time in her company, I feel slightly less animosity towards her now I know why she hates me so much. Not that I'd ever tell her that.

"Fortune was last seen leaving the Paradise Club in the early hours of the morning. I've no idea about Lace. Your guess is as good as mine."

"As long as you didn't get their names around the wrong way," I reply teasingly as Falco stands up again and drags me with him, suddenly finding even something like the mental image of Lace's reaction to Paradise hilariously funny even though I've no idea why. Maybe the situation's finally got to me and I'm going hysterical.

"I don't think there's much chance of that," replies Falco, turning around when we all hear the sound of the front door slamming shut.

"That'll be Fortune," says Gloss. "I'll be back in a minute."

"You went to talk to him before, Gloss," I say, feeling a mixture of curiosity and worry. "What do you find to say?"

"You know what he's like," he replies, almost but not quite meeting my eyes. "He knows all of the Capitol gossip so I might learn something useful."

He gets up and leaves the room before I can question him further, which makes me doubt how truthful he's being even more, but I don't chase after him. I'll let it go for now and interrogate him later. There's still time.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong now or am I going to have to drag it out of you later?" asks Falco as soon as the door closes behind my brother.

"I don't know what you mean," I reply, going through the motions even though I know I won't put him off and that there's no way I can fool him. He knows me too well.

"What happened downstairs? The truth this time, not what you tell Gloss because you don't want him to worry."

"What I said was the truth. I did speak to Enobaria. She agreed to ally with us when we first get in the arena."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What else did she say?"

"Nothing. I can't talk about it now," I reply desperately, not quite trusting that there's nobody listening to me but him.

He closes the distance between us, backing me against the sideboard so I have no choice but to look him in the eye. Once I can't look away, I can't lie to him, which is something he knows all too well.

"Falco, please. I can't."

"You can," he whispers. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

"Then tell me. No one will hear but me."

I sigh deeply and try to rest my head on his shoulder. For once he doesn't let me, almost as though he senses I'm hoping he'll get distracted and drop it.

"She killed Vespasian," I say eventually in a whisper so quiet I'm surprised he was able to hear.

I don't know why, but I expected outrage or vows to avenge the death of his colleague, ally and friend. To start with I even considered that he might want to attempt to bring Enobaria to justice for her crimes and that it would come as a surprise that she could possibly have been acting on the president's orders. Then I realise that he knows Panem even better than I do, and that he would never be naïve enough to think anyone could get true justice here. Besides, once he's had some time to think about it, he's smart enough that he'll work out that the most logical if not the most obvious conclusion is that President Snow orchestrated the whole thing anyway.

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

Now that surprises him. I can tell by the slight raise of his eyebrows and the way he adjusts his grip on my arm.

"Why? She doesn't exactly seem the type to talk to anyone, and you're a virtual stranger who's going into the arena with her."

"I guessed. Gloss saw her leaving that apartment block this morning and I kind of put two and two together. She didn't bother denying it when she decided threatening me into staying silent would be equally as effective and a lot more fun."

"Wait a minute," he replies eventually, staring so hard at me that I can almost hear him thinking. "This is far-fetched even for you. How did you get from that to Vespasian's murder? Which apartment? Where?"

That's when I remember that even after all that, I'm still clutching the newspaper like I've subconsciously decided its headline will stop being reality if I let it go. I show him, making sure I don't look at the main picture, and he immediately takes it off me, narrowing his eyes sharply.

"Am I missing something here, Butterfly? I still don't understand."

"Gloss saw Enobaria leaving the apartment where…that man was murdered last night. He thought she looked suspicious, especially because she was out of the Training Centre at night, so he told me. It was only later that I saw the newspaper and realised that it all fitted."

"Enobaria killed Cornelius Winterborne and Vespasian? Why?"

I shudder at the mention of that name and I'm sure Falco notices, but he says nothing, waiting for my answer.

"Don't you see? There's no reason other than that she was told to kill them. She's an assassin. She does as she's told and she doesn't need a reason."

"For who-"

"Don't tell me you haven't spoken to Phoebe," I interrupt, cutting him off before he can finish, looking around uncomfortably because I still don't feel happy discussing this here. "She had her theory when it happened and I don't think she's far wrong."

"She thought she knew who ordered Vespasian's death and a couple of us agreed on why, but Enobaria Moreno? Why her? Why would she kill for him? From what little I've seen of her, she isn't really a 'Long Live the Glory of the Capitol' kind of woman."

"You know what people say about her. You were in District Two with me when we heard the same story whispered over and over again. I told you what Ursala told me. It's all true. She kills for him because she can't bear the alternative, because she'd literally do anything so she doesn't have to do that. The things she told me, Falco," I say, looking down at the floor because I suddenly can't meet his gaze. "The way she looked at me when she said them. I've never-"

"Sit down," he says, drawing me over towards the nearest armchair before sitting down and pulling me onto his lap. He holds me until I regain my composure and I let him because I'm not sure I want to hear what I know he's going to say next. "I'm going to have to tell certain people what you've told me. Just those who need to know."

"No," I say quietly. "I don't want you to. I said I'd keep her secret and I meant it."

"But she killed Vespasian."

"No, she didn't. She wielded the knife but she didn't kill him, not really. She's just another weapon. A weapon that's been through more than anyone should ever have to endure. Nobody else must know. Please."

Even as I speak I don't really know why I'm defending her or why I feel the way I do. All I know is that I heard her story from her own lips and it's enough to make me stay well away. I don't want to be the one responsible for causing trouble for her, and it isn't just because I suspect I'd end up dying a long and painful death either inside the arena or out of it. I don't want Falco to tell anyone because he'd have to tell them why, and I don't want that.

"Fine," he replies, not looking entirely happy about it. "I'll leave Moreno out of it. But I can't keep the rest to myself, you know that. And Phoebe's not stupid. She'll work it out for herself soon enough."

"If she does then she does. It probably won't matter by then anyway. Unless you know something I don't?"

He looks long and hard at me before answering, as if he's thinking carefully about what to say because he knows I probably won't want to hear it. It's something to do with the rebellion, I can tell, and I'm guessing from his expression that it isn't going to be good news.

"Something's going on," he says. "But I don't know what. They won't tell me much."

"Because the two…groups still can't agree about what should happen next?" I ask, still not wanting to mention rebels and rebellion directly.

"No," he replies sadly. "Or yes, but that isn't the reason."

"Then what is?" I ask, wanting to hear him say it despite how I suspect I already know the answer.

"They won't tell me much because they know about us. They know that I'll always put you first, and since the reaping… Well, I'm a risk they won't take."

"I'm sorry," I say, truly meaning it despite how I've always hated him being involved in even talk of rebellion since Achillea died. "I know how much it means to you, how much you want to be a part of it. If you'd never met me then-"

"-I'd have died inside a long time ago," he replies firmly, tightening his grip on my arms and shaking me slightly before his expression turns thoughtful again. "But it's something to do with Everdeen, I know it is. Heavensbee's obsessed with her. He has been since before she even won the Games."

"And Heavensbee's side of things is the one that's in control?"

"Most of the remnants of the old plot have either thrown in with The Gamemaker or, how shall I put it, rethought their position."

"Exchanged their morals and their values for a continuation of their easy little lives of debauchery in the big city, you mean?"

"Something like that," he replies, trying and failing to hide his smile at my less than flattering turn of phrase.

"And how about Narissa? What did she want with Gloss after the Opening Ceremony yesterday?"

"What does Narissa usually want with your brother, Butterfly?" he asks flatly, and the smile on his face doesn't entirely fade.

"So she's abandoned the cause as well?"

"I didn't say that. I said 'most' of those high up in Achillea's plans, not 'all'. But she and Heavensbee still have their differences. Too many differences, I think. They're both too proud and too stubborn to work together and compromise."

"They both want the same thing. What's the problem?"

"That they don't want the same thing, not in the long term. Heavensbee wants revolution. The end of the Capitol and the districts as we know them now in the true sense. 'Rissa isn't so radical. She just wants to reform the government, to make things better but with the basic structure of Panem's society staying the same."

"But Heavensbee's going to have to have a rethink now, isn't he? He's a few days away from losing one of the most valuable pieces in his game."

However before I finish my last sentence, I realise that what I said might not be true. Plutarch Heavensbee might be the leader of the new rebellion plot but he is also the Head Gamemaker. And maybe that might mean Everdeen's got a better chance of staying alive than I first thought.

"He'll have a plan," says Falco, obviously thinking what I'm thinking. "You can be sure of that. Which is why you have to watch District Twelve. And stay away from them until the time comes."

"Do you think they know about any of this? Do you think the girl knows what's being planned around her?"

"I think she's as ignorant as a newborn child," he replies. "And that everyone wants to keep her that way, at least they do now she's going into the arena."

"Gloss is here, Falco," I say, mention of the arena jolting me back to reality. "Gloss has to get out. I don't care if Everdeen dies and the rebellion along with her."

"Don't," he replies, his voice a strangled whisper. "Don't say that. Don't talk like you know you're not coming back to me."

"I'm sorry," I say, not knowing what other response I could possibly give him. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he says. "Live. For me. Aren't I worth fighting for like Gloss is?"

"It isn't like that," I reply. "I love you, but this isn't a choice between you and my brother. There's a way for you to both live and that is my choice."

"No," he says fiercely, pulling me against him and not allowing me to speak again. "I won't let you make that choice. I won't let you."

I know I'm not going to be able to give him the response he wants to hear so I remain silent. There's nothing else I can do.

* * *

><p>The second day of training passes by much like the first. There are a few more tributes in the gymnasium than there were before, but not all of them manage to make it to any of the stations. The man from District Five spends most of the day collapsed in a corner in a drunken stupor, and in the end some of the attendants give up waiting for him to recover and carry him from the room. Everyone stops to watch but nobody laughs or makes a joke, and I think that's the first time the reality of the Quell starts to sink in for us as a group. Or that's how it feels anyway. What most of the others are thinking is something I couldn't begin to guess.<p>

"I think that's enough for the day," says the head trainer, and when I scan the rest of the group, only Brutus looks disappointed.

Everyone disperses virtually immediately and I follow Gloss towards the lifts, but then I briefly stop to talk to one of the trainers when he tells me he's Callista's cousin and my brother shouts back that he'll see me upstairs. He likes lingering in the public places of the Training Centre less and less every day.

After I'm evicted from the gymnasium by one of the other trainers, I decide that I'd rather go the other way back to Level One so I leave via the other doors, walking quickly along what I initially think is a deserted corridor. I'm soon proven wrong.

"Cashmere? Will you walk with me for a while?"

I spin around in response, startled by the unexpected voice despite how quiet and calm it is, and I immediately see Beetee closing the gymnasium door behind himself.

"I have to go back upstairs," I tell him, unsure what he could possibly want with me. "I have to go back to my brother."

"Please," he replies, taking an almost tentative step towards me. "I won't take up much of your time."

"That's good," I say, and I'm shocked by both my honesty and the bitterness I hear. "Because I don't have much time left."

He raises his eyebrows at that and pushes his glasses further onto his nose, but he says nothing further and simply beckons to me once more. I sigh and follow him, realising that the sooner I find out what he wants, the sooner I can return to Gloss.

I expect him to stop as soon as we're out of sight of the gymnasium entrance but he keeps walking, taking me through so many of the twists and turns of the underground corridors that I soon decide I would be totally lost without him. And the thought of being lost in a place that reminds me so much of There is enough to make my heart race and my head begin to spin. I stop, leaning against the wall before I realise what I'm doing and then jumping back up when I feel the cold stone against my back.

"Cashmere? Is something wrong?" asks Beetee as he also stops, peering at me with an expression that could almost be one of concern. "It isn't much further."

"You know what my first arena looked like, District Three," I snap, taking a deep breath and trying to pull myself together so I don't shame myself in front of my competition. "What did you expect?"

"I'm sorry," he replies, hurrying forwards to the next door along the corridor as he does. "I didn't think."

"Didn't think?" I retort, my panic making my voice sharper than I intended. "You're District Three, I thought thinking is what you specialise in."

"I hope so," he answers, and his face contorts into what could almost be called a smirk. "Because fighting any other way certainly isn't my strong point."

I smile at that before I can stop myself, but once I realise what I'm doing I immediately school my expression into something a lot more neutral. There's something about this quiet and unassuming man that makes me want to drop my guard, but I mustn't. He still won the Games and he's still one of the smartest men in Panem. He won't give up his life easily.

He opens the door and holds it open for me, but instead of walking forwards I stay where I am and watch him suspiciously.

"Why should I trust you?"

Something about that makes him smile and shake his head slightly. "If I'd been trying to talk to your ally then she'd have walked in there without question because she'd be totally confident that she could kill me in a heartbeat. I'm sure you could do the same and yet still you don't trust."

"People who trust other people end up dead," I say, trying to hide the surprise I feel at how he knows about my tenuous alliance with Enobaria. "They do where I come from anyway."

"Perhaps. But you can trust me today, Cashmere," he replies, and then he turns and disappears inside the room.

I wait for a minute, arguing with the voice in my head that tells me to just walk away, and in the end I win. I approach the door slowly, putting my head into the room without going inside. What I see makes me pause and stare in awe.

It has always been said that District Three's Victors converted a room beneath the Training Centre into a workshop, that the government allowed them to because they're the ones who benefit from the revenue brought in by selling their ingenious technological inventions to the masses, but it's never been more than a half-forgotten rumour to me. Until now. Now I'm standing here looking at it, at the mass of wires and electrical equipment that seems to take up every available space on the tables and floor, I can honestly say I'm speechless.

"Come in but don't touch anything," says Beetee, carefully clearing a chair for me. "For your own safety, of course."

"Why have you asked me to come here?"

He doesn't respond for a minute, and instead turns away from me and starts flicking switches on some kind of wall-mounted panel. It looks like a light switch but I somehow instinctively know there's a lot more to it than that. I perch on the edge of the chair he cleared and wait, my curiosity quickly rising up to get the better of me like it always has.

"Because I have something I need to discuss with you," he replies after flicking a final switch and nodding at the panel in satisfaction.

"Discuss?" I ask, sensing he doesn't want to ask me about the current price of diamonds and suddenly feeling very wary. "Is that such a good idea?"

"Nobody can hear us here, Cashmere," he says, pointing briefly to the panel almost arrogantly. "It blocks any bugs in the room, so all anyone listening in will hear is pre-recorded background noise. Like there's no one in here at all."

"One of the advantages of being considerably more intelligent than the most intelligent of Capitolians?" I retort, amused by his reactions and somewhat reassured by the confidence in his voice when he casually discusses outsmarting the Capitol.

"Something like that," he replies, looking around the room at his equipment and creations in a slightly embarrassed way.

I smirk back at him. "Intelligence, perhaps, but I'm sure nobody ever accused District Three of possessing a wealth of modesty," I say, thinking more of Marchessa than him.

"Said the pot to the kettle," he retorts instantly, and I smile in acknowledgement that he won the point there.

"But why should I trust you? How do I know you haven't got the Peacekeepers waiting outside for me to say something treasonous? How do I know we're not being listened to and that your trick with that panel was exactly that; a trick to fool the technologically inept girl from One who knows no better?"

"Because I was part of it the first time. Because I fitted a panel just like this one in the house of a woman who wanted to change the world. And because I'm the reason you can say whatever you like in the Level One dining room."

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you haven't," he replies, smiling knowingly. "A bit like you wouldn't know what I was talking about if I told you that there's been something of a renaissance over the past year or two?"

"That's right."

"So you wouldn't be curious to know there is a plan to…thwart the one who planned this Quell?"

"I don't see what that would have to do with me," I answer, struggling to remain as reserved when I realise he means President Snow and not Heavensbee.

He really does know, and the part of me that still wants to be a part of the rebellion wants to say something very different from the formulaic denials I'm giving him now. But then I remember how that part of me died when Gloss was reaped. Compared to saving his life, nothing else matters.

"No, I don't suppose you do," he continues, his tone as even and mild as ever. "You know, a lot of the others told me it was stupid to speak to someone like you about this, that you'd betray us before we even had time to blink, but the one making the decisions went with me when I suggested it, so here I am and there you are. What do you say, Cashmere? Do you want to hear it?"

I stare back at him, so unsure of how to respond that I almost forget to be offended by what he said. Part of me thinks the most sensible thing to do would be to get up and walk away, to forget that I'd ever come here, but the rest of me thinks it can't hurt to listen. I try to crush the little hope that suddenly appears inside me, and to ignore it when it tells me that Heavensbee might have thought of a way out of this mess. There's no point thinking it. Even if he has, that plan won't include Gloss.

"Go on," I tell him tentatively.

"You've heard the stories of shortages and…supply difficulties concerning items sourced in some of the districts," he says, only continuing when I nod slightly. "So you will know that a fight which was confined to the Capitol before has now spread to the whole of Panem."

"Largely unsuccessfully," I say. "All it's achieved so far is this Quarter Quell. The only person it's helped is Him."

"But the Seventy-fourth Games achieved something, Cashmere. Every revolution needs a leader and a figurehead if it's going to succeed. And that isn't always the same person. We had our leader and now we have a figurehead as well, a living, breathing symbol that everyone will fight for."

"Everdeen?" I reply incredulously, unable to stop myself. "You're all out of your minds if you think everyone will fight for her. I'd sooner fight for her baby sister's pet cat."

"Are we out of our minds?" says Beetee, as calmly as ever and in complete contrast to my increasing fervour. "You heard the people in District Four chanting her name as well as I did. What if we're not out of our minds? What if the people _will _follow their Mockingjay? What if this time the plan succeeds?"

"How can it? Even if they would follow her, she's going into the arena in three days time. She's going to die and so will her pathetic Lover Boy."

"That's what I want to talk to you about," he replies, and this time I don't miss the tension in his voice. "What if she didn't die? What if we made sure she didn't die?"

It takes a minute for that to sink in, but when it does my response is immediate.

"You want me to give my life for the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight? You really are out of your mind! If I was here alone then I'd forgive you for suggesting it but didn't you see the reaping review? Haven't you seen who my district partner is? There is someone going into the arena who I will do everything in my power to protect but I can assure you that it isn't Katniss Everdeen."

"I'm sorry about your brother, Cashmere," he says finally, after a long pause where he sits totally still, just staring at me as if he's trying to read my mind. "But-"

"Don't you dare tell me to think about the big picture," I snarl. "Don't you dare! I respect you, Beetee. That's why I'm here having this conversation. But I won't hesitate to kill you if that's what I have to do to get Gloss out alive."

He nods and stares at me again. "I thought you'd say that. And I can see nothing I say will change your mind."

"It won't. I love him too much. More than I could love any dream of a freedom that will never be reality."

"There's something else," he continues, only speaking after taking a deep breath in a way that makes me think he's struggling to contain his emotions. "About the interviews."

"The interviews? What about them? Do you want me to refuse to attend? Dress up as Katniss? Turn up naked? If it's the last one then I hate to break it to you but Felix took over Auriel's job so I think you'll all be out of luck," I say, trying very hard to keep calm but not entirely succeeding. I sound slightly out of control even to my own ears so I make myself stop for a second before continuing. "I won't put Gloss at risk. No matter what."

"All I'm asking you to do is make the audience think, that's all."

"What do you mean? I'm a Victor not a miracle worker. It'll take more than words to make the average Capitolian even possess the ability to think, never mind actually do it."

Something about the way he looks at me in response to that, his face a mixture of amusement and vague despair, makes me laugh despite the situation. I laugh even more when he joins in for a short time but then he quickly becomes serious again.

"We belong to an elite group of people who are more famous than virtually any others in Panem. And the Capitol loves us."

"And don't we all know it," I hiss under my breath, the thought of what it really means to be a Hunger Games Victor removing any trace of humour from my mind and replacing it with anger.

"On that stage we have the power make them remember who we are. If we can make them truly realise what will happen to twenty-three of us before the end of this Quell then we might be able to make a difference. We might be able to…affect the impact it has on the country and alter it from what the one who created it intended…"

"Whose little plot is this?" I ask, already beginning to think of what I could say even though I'd promised myself I wouldn't get involved. "And why are you telling me? I've already told you that if I get a shot at Everdeen in the arena then I'll take it."

"This isn't just about Katniss. Does it matter whose idea it is?"

"It does to me."

"It's everyone's idea now," he replies tiredly, sighing once again. "But you know the one who first came up with it, I think. Your brother knows her better than you do. And Mr Hazelwell has known her since they were both children."

I stare back at him. There's only one person he could mean. Narissa. Of course this is down to her. She's been playing the Capitolian mob since she was old enough to talk.

"If you think about it then you'll know why I'm telling you," he continues, staring thoughtfully at me over the top of his glasses.

"Because I'm the one who has to start it," I reply after thinking about it for a minute. "Because everyone else can make their choice while they're on the stage and when they've seen what everyone else does, but I'm first up so I don't have that luxury."

"I wouldn't have put it quite so bluntly. After all, not everyone is in a position to join in and not everyone would be willing to. But you are right, of course. If you agree then it will start with you."

"Well I have no desire to share the vast majority of my true thoughts with the nation so I'm sure I'll be able to think of something," I reply, standing up and taking a step back towards the door. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

"So am I, Cashmere. So am I. But sometimes love is a more powerful weapon than hate, and that's something Coriolanus Snow has always understood a lot better than most."

"Which is ironic really when I sincerely doubt he's capable of feeling an emotion even close to love," I reply, speaking as dryly as I can in an attempt to hide the lump that forms in my throat in response to his words.

"The world is full of irony," replies Beetee thoughtfully. "I'll tell him what you said."

I know he means Heavensbee and I shake my head, once again torn between Gloss and my longing to do something, anything at all, to show the president that we have the power to fight back. In the end Gloss wins, as he always does and always will, so I take a deep breath and walk over to the door. I only turn back as I'm reaching for the handle.

"Tell him," I say. "Tell him that I'll keep his secrets and that I'll stand on that stage and give them the performance of my life, but that I love my brother more than I could ever love his Mockingjay. I used to think I'd do anything for freedom but Gloss's life is the one price I won't pay. It sounds clichéd even to me when I say it out loud, but it's true."

"He told me you'd say that."

"Then hopefully that means he's got enough sense to think of another plan when the Quell is all over. I wish you luck," I finish, placing my hand lightly on the door handle, "but not too much."

* * *

><p>I didn't wait to hear any response Beetee might have given me and instead chose to flee back upstairs as quickly as I could. As I hurry along the white corridor that leads to Level One, I'm still feeling amazed that I managed to find my way out of the maze that is the Training Centre's basement floor, but that doesn't last long once I get inside.<p>

I head to the dining room instinctively, this time with Beetee's words ringing in my ears, repeating what he said about the anti-bugging device he created over and over again, and when I get there it's to find Falco waiting for me.

"Where's Gloss?" I ask, immediately noticing that he's not there.

"He didn't come back. Fortune's not here either."

"What are they really talking about? Do you know? Honestly, Falco, I mean it."

"Honestly I don't," he replies. "I asked Gloss but he wouldn't tell me."

"It's something to do with the arena, isn't it? He's planning his strategy with Fortune because he thinks he can convince him to let him die so I can live."

"You know your brother better than I do," he says, "but it sounds more than feasible. I know you don't want to hear that, but…"

"But it's true," I finish, once again becoming lost for words when the subject of the choice I can't bear to think about is raised.

"Where have you been?"

I smile sadly, grateful for the change of subject, and shrug my shoulders. Then I give in and tell him everything that Beetee told me, not leaving out a single detail.

"I knew about the plan for the interviews," he replies eventually. "They let me in on that one because they knew I'd realise it would be to your benefit too, or at least that it wouldn't harm you specifically. Plus it was 'Rissa's idea so it was obvious she'd tell me anyway."

"And the rest?"

He shakes his head. "I had no idea. But I guessed it would be something like that. So remember what I said and stay away from Everdeen unless it's to make her cannon fire. When it gets towards the end of the Games then I don't think Plutarch will find all that many people left out there who are willing to sacrifice their lives for a girl they hardly know."

I shrug my shoulders and hope he's right. An arena alliance with a single objective rather than as many separate agendas as it has members will be a lot harder to break and a lot harder to fight. But whatever happens I have to try so there's no point worrying about it, not when tomorrow's the last day of training and I'll have to face the Gamemakers.

And that's yet another thing that I can't bear the thought of but can do nothing about.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Last time I was in the Training Centre gymnasium on the third day, the atmosphere perceptibly changed as everyone prepared themselves to face the Gamemakers. However this time the change is nowhere near as pronounced. It's there, but it doesn't stop people from talking and training together and it doesn't stop the usual crowd from pushing the tables into one big group at lunch so we all have to sit together.

"So," says Chaff loudly as he sits down between Finnick and a slightly terrified looking Girl Who Should Be Set Alight, "what are we going to do for the Gamemakers today? I was thinking of juggling but I don't think it will really work."

He raises his arms so the stump which is all that's left of his right hand is clearly visible, and many of the others laugh. I'm just surprised that he can trivialise what happened to him and turn it into a joke. It doesn't seem all that funny to me. But then I think that maybe that's the only way he can deal with it and say nothing.

After that they all join in with their own increasingly stupid suggestions of things they could do when it's their turn to be called into the gymnasium, and the small dining room is soon full of laughter. Even Mags joins in, saying that it will be about time for her afternoon nap by the time she sees the Gamemakers so she might just carry on as normal and see what sort of reaction she gets.

The only person in the room who doesn't at least smile at that is Enobaria, who remains as detached from the group as ever. She's sitting beside me but she might as well be on the other side of the city.

"If you want the top score then maybe you should try stripping for the Gamemakers, de Montfort," calls Brutus from the other end of the table, and I know from the look he gives me that he doesn't mean Gloss.

"Or maybe I should take you into the gymnasium with me so I don't need to ruin all of the targets at the spear-throwing station," I retort, tightening my hand around Gloss's wrist when I feel him tense in response to the man from Two's words.

"You should try it, Odair," quips Chaff over the laughter of the others. "If stripping is an option then you've probably got the best chance of getting that twelve."

"But they've seen it all before," I say, knowing I shouldn't but saying it anyway because there's nothing like possibly only having three days to live to make me feel like speaking my mind. "So the…impact won't be the same."

"Meow," replies Chaff, clearly trying to ease his friend's discomfort by stopping himself from laughing. "What rattled your cage?"

"I couldn't possibly imagine," I say, turning away when Gloss reverses our previous roles by becoming the one who needs to put a restraining hand on my wrist.

"If your sword hand was as sharp as your tongue then I might think about getting worried, de Montfort," says Enobaria quietly enough that only I hear her.

"If I were you then I'd worry," I reply, wondering what's wrong with me today, why I'm finding it so easy and natural to become the Cashmere who sat at this table nine years ago.

She smirks back, baring her teeth for a split second so their gold tips catch the light, but she doesn't speak again. Her expression closes instantly and she resumes her lunch, stabbing her fork at her plate with the same ferocity she seems to show everything else.

Eventually the sound volume in the room goes back up as discussion about the private sessions continues, and it takes at least half an hour for them all to run out of things to say. However as soon as we have the first second of silence it starts to feel uncomfortable, and Beetee quietly suggests that Seeder should sing for the Gamemakers. His words instantly prompt her district partner to demand a demonstration.

I think she gives in just to shut him up in the end, and everyone pauses to listen as her soft, clear voice fills the room, singing a song I don't recognise that could almost be a child's lullaby.

When she falls silent they urge Katniss to give them a song as well, but she declines, looking at her plate and seemingly overcome by embarrassment. Once again the revolution's new figurehead dazzles me with her social skills and truly inspirational personality. Or not.

"Gloss de Montfort!" calls a rather stressed looking attendant as the double doors are thrown open.

Everything looks rather frantic, as if they'd moved in a hurry because they were listening to us and didn't like what they were hearing. Considering how Seeder inadvertently unified us all when we paused to listen to her sing, I find that very easy to believe.

Gloss squeezes my hand as he stands up and walks towards the gymnasium, not turning back even once. Only the presence of the other Victor-tributes prevents me from racing after him. If it hurts this much when he's only going to earn his training score then what will it feel like when he's leaving so a hovercraft can take him to the arena?

"The pain of having siblings," says Enobaria in a barely audible whisper that still manages to cut through my thoughts like a knife.

"I'd rather this than to have lived my life without mine," I reply, lowering my voice when I notice Wiress silently following our conversation.

The woman from District Three meets my eyes and smiles softly before looking away. I don't know why but I get the impression she understands and agrees with me.

"Perhaps," replies Enobaria, and I wonder if she's thinking of her sister, if the girl-Enobaria she used to be is really as dead as she claims.

She doesn't speak again after that and neither do I. Before I know it the attendant reappears and calls my name, the sound echoing in the silence. I rise slowly to my feet and head towards the doors of the gymnasium, feeling the eyes of the others following me every step of the way.

All I can think is that I've done this once. I was never supposed to have to do it again. This isn't the way it's meant to be. And this time I don't have Corvinus to push me in the right direction. Now as I look back behind me I remember that small gesture more clearly than I ever have before, remembering how it was what gave me the strength to face the Gamemakers with my head held high. This time when I look back all I see is Enobaria and Brutus, both of their expressions cold and unforgiving. This time isn't like before. This time I have no allies but the one I'll give my life to protect who left the room before me.

"This way," says the attendant, making a sweeping gesture with his arm towards the doorway.

I resist the urge to tell him that the whole of Panem knows I already know the way and instead obediently walk into the gymnasium, stopping in front of the stands to look up at the Gamemakers. The first person I see is Plutarch Heavensbee, seated right in the middle in the biggest chair as he always has been these past few days. He stares down at me, wine glass in hand, and I instantly wish I could read minds. Then I would know what he's thinking, whether he thinks I'm nothing more than collateral damage in his plan to make Katniss Everdeen the poster girl for his revolution, or if this is just another Games to him and he's already got a new plan forming. I stare right back at him, hoping that he'll see from the look in my eyes that I'm not going to make it easy for him.

He nods calmly to me once, exactly like he did on the occasions I've met him before, and it takes me a moment to remember that that is my signal to begin. But begin to do what? Despite all of the talk in the dining room about rebelling against the process by singing and sleeping instead of fighting, now I'm standing here, my every instinct is telling me to fight. I'm at the sword-fighting station with a blade in my hand before I even realise I've made a decision. Then the first trainer steps towards me and everything else fades into the background.

I fight and fight for longer than I thought myself capable of, but when I raise my sword and the trainer backs away, I doubt it's enough. Not with Brutus and Enobaria following me. The instinct to fight, the ability to predict an opponent's next move, none of it has left me, but I'm too out of condition. As I couldn't avoid noticing when I was with her in that storeroom, I stopped training and Enobaria didn't. And every Gamemaker in that stand is going to see it as clearly as I can.

I sigh deeply and pull the clip from my hair so my blonde curls fall back down over my shoulders as I try desperately to disguise how out of breath I am. Then I reach for a spear and throw it straight at the row of straw-filled targets lined up along the wall. I miss by far too much, and when I miss a second time, only narrowly this time, I surreptitiously look up at the Gamemakers. They're pouring the wine again, calmly sitting there under the shadow of the Capitol seal on the flag behind them like this is just another day to them. They disgust me. All of them. Even Heavensbee, who I've always admired. He's still sitting there watching this farce and enjoying his feast.

Then I throw a third spear, imagining that the target I aim for is the man who caused all of this in the first place. Maybe it's only a coincidence and nothing more, but when I picture the face of the man who sold my body and sent me to my death, the spear slams into the dummy where its heart would be with such force that it falls from the wall with a loud crash. I turn back to the Gamemakers and every one of them is looking at me now.

* * *

><p>When Heavensbee nods to me in dismissal, I go back up to Level One as directed by the Avox in the gymnasium and find Gloss leaning against the stark white wall of the outside corridor, waiting for me to return. The way he looks down at me, with his hair ruffled, his eyes twinkling and a slight grin on his face, makes me think of the person he was before Sapphire came here. I smile back at him and he follows me towards the main door.<p>

"It's safe," he says once he's gone inside and checked all of the rooms for our mentors. I told him about most of what Lace said and he remembered even less about that day in her father's workshop than I did, but he's done his best to stay away anyway. "They're hardly ever here."

"They know we don't need them," I reply. "Or Fortune's too busy making the most of the Capitol lifestyle."

"That's true enough," he says, but then his expression suddenly becomes more serious as we sit down in the dining room. "How did it go?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I fought a few of the trainers at the sword station and they looked tired enough by the time I'd done. Then I tried spear-throwing but I've obviously lost my touch because I missed twice. I only managed to hit the dummy the third time because I was imagining it was a specific person."

He grins and I know it didn't take him much to work out who I was talking about. I don't think there's a Victor alive who wouldn't cheer if they heard that the man who put them in the arena was dead.

"I tried that one and I beheaded one of the targets with my sword before I realised what I was doing. I don't think the Gamemakers were very impressed with the level of damage."

"I'm sure they've got plenty more stored away," I reply, shaking my head amusedly. "They'll need them once Enobaria gets the knives out and Brutus starts reliving his glory days."

Gloss laughs, but the way he looks at me tells me what's coming next.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to ally with them? We might do better on our own."

"We're not allying with them, Gloss. We're working with them at the beginning because it's safer. There's a difference."

"But if Brutus calls me 'Pretty Boy' one more time then the consequences for him won't be the slightest bit pretty," he says, and I smile because I know him more than well enough to recognise that as agreement.

"All of the District Two Victors call you that. It's tradition," I reply, failing dismally at resisting the urge to laugh.

"It's annoying. Especially coming from people like Brutus."

"You'll get over it, Pretty Boy," I tease, dancing away out of range when he throws a cushion at me.

He just stares then, staying perfectly still and narrowing his eyes when I inch back towards him. I move around the outside of the room in a circle around the sofa and the dining room table, and he keeps watching me. Then there's a loud crash from the City Circle where they're constructing the stage for the interviews and he's momentarily distracted.

I grab a cushion from one of the other chairs and fling it in his direction before rapidly following it, barrelling into him and squealing when he promptly puts me on the floor at his feet. However when he offers me his hand, I take it and he drags me back onto the sofa beside him.

"Act your age not your shoe size, Miss Cashmere," he says, mimicking the tone of the servants who had the unenviable task of attempting to control us when we were children.

"You started it," I reply, deliberately sounding childish as I stick my tongue out at him.

I decide that I know what's coming next when he takes a deep breath and abruptly can't meet my eyes, so I open my mouth to tell him to stop. To tell him that I won't let him die for me no matter how many times he says it. But then he surprises me totally.

"I'm sorry," he says, still not meeting my eyes.

"Sorry for what? It's not your fault we're here together."

"I didn't mean that," he replies. "I meant that I'm sorry I wasn't the same person after I won the Games, that it changed me so much."

"I-"

"Don't tell me it hasn't, Cash, because I know it has. I haven't lost it so much that I don't realise I've lost it. Sometimes I feel like I'm looking down on myself reacting to things and I don't recognise the person I'm seeing. And I know how much it hurts you."

"It only hurts me because I know it's hurting you," I reply. "Anyway, it isn't like I stayed the same. Especially after…well, after what happened after."

He doesn't contradict me. There's no point when we both know what I said is true.

"What would Sapphire say if she was with us now?"

"If Sapphire was with us now then we'd be back in District One, because she'd never have let us volunteer. I'd probably have killed Miracle about thirty seconds into our wedding night and hopefully I'd have done it carefully enough that nobody would work out I was to blame."

"Cash," he says, "that's our brother-in-law you're talking about."

"Yes, Gloss. Brother-in-law. Very different to husband. Now don't interrupt," I reply amusedly, taking a deep breath before continuing, serious once more. "Then Father would have been so devastated that his plan for me didn't work out that he'd have married you off to some unintelligent and insipid daughter of one of his rivals to make himself feel better and reassure himself that he's still the master of his own little universe. And we'd have spent the next twenty years holding Sapphire afloat and putting the pieces of her back together every time they sent her back home from the Capitol."

"She'd have hated it. She'd have hated it so much."

"I don't know how you bear it," I say, my words spilling out in a rush before I can stop them, as if I'm thinking that if we don't talk about it now then we never will.

"I don't," he replies softly. "At the beginning I tried to block it out, like you do when you do your photo shoots and interviews. Then when that didn't work I tried to pretend they were all 'Rissa," he continues, and I stay silent even though I immediately notice how he shortens her name like Falco does, "but that didn't work either because they were nothing like her and they still disgusted me. In the end the only thing that even helped was pretending to be someone else. That way it's only when it's over and the real me has to live with what the pretend me had to do that it really hurts."

"Then you don't ever have to apologise to me. You're my brother and I love you so stop being stupid."

"Watch who you're calling stupid," he says, his mood abruptly lightening again as he tries to wrestle me to the floor. When he can't succeed he pulls me upright and his expression becomes serious again. "'Rissa said something about us Victor-tributes speaking out against the Quell."

I sit up and look directly at him, letting my fake tears fall and my face contort with an anguish I don't really feel. Or at least that I don't really feel for the reason I'm about to give him.

"I've sat awake every night since the announcement," I sob. "When I think of how much the people of the Capitol will suffer if they lose us… I… I simply can't bear it." Then I take a breath, wipe my cheeks and smile brightly. "It'll go something like that, I think. Or do you think it's a bit too melodramatic?"

"It's perfectly melodramatic enough for here," he replies, sounding torn between amusement and sadness.

"Good," I say, shuffling around so I can rest my head on his shoulder. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to, but I won't be able to live with myself if I don't start it off."

"I'm with you," he replies immediately. "I'm sure my ability to construct nauseating lies is every bit as good as yours."

I laugh and tell him I don't doubt it. Then we pass the time we spend waiting for the training scores talking like we always used to, always about the people and places of District One and never about the Capitol. All that mars my afternoon apart from the obvious that I can do nothing about is Falco's absence. While I tell myself he's probably out after sponsorship money, it doesn't stop me from worrying.

* * *

><p>When Lace and Fortune reappear a few hours later and ask us to the television room, apparently because it's sure to be noticed if we don't watch the scores programme together, Falco still hasn't returned. I'm really worried now.<p>

"Did he say anything to you?" I ask Gloss, whispering so the others can't hear. "Anything at all. Even if he said not to tell me."

"No. Nothing at all," he replies. "He's known us nearly ten years, Cash. If there's anything he doesn't want you to know then he's hardly likely to tell me."

That's true enough, and I can't question him further because we've reached the television room. Fortune asks us about how training went and fills us in on all the gossip he heard last night, or I should probably say some of the gossip. I'm sure he heard things at a place like Paradise which even he wouldn't feel able to share with me.

Lace merely switches the television on in total silence. Now I finally know the reason behind her grudge against me and my family, she seems to have decided never to speak to me again. I'm not sure which I prefer; silence or constant insults. However just as I decide silence is better, she has to go and ruin it.

"Where's your pet Capitolian?" she asks me, speaking of Falco in a way I know she'd never dare to if he was within earshot.

"I don't have one," I reply icily. "But if you mean Falco then he'll be here in a minute."

"You don't know where he is, do you?" she asks smugly.

I laugh, putting on a lightness and air of indifference that I don't really feel. "I don't keep him on a leash, Lace," I reply, glaring at Gloss when he smirks at me. "I don't need to know where he is every minute of every day."

"That's not bad, Cashmere," interrupts Fortune, speaking before my other mentor can respond to what I said. "Well done."

He nods towards the television screen and I immediately see they've started to reveal the training scores while I've been debating with Lace. My photograph, an old one from one of my many photo shoots rather than a teary-eyed, blotchy image of me at the reaping, fills the screen and underneath it there's a flashing number nine.

"What's wrong?"

I turn to look at Gloss, momentarily lost for words. Now I know that the Gamemakers are fixing everything because I got a nine when I was in this position before as well. Back then I was eighteen years old and had been training virtually every day since I was seven or eight. This time around I returned to training three months ago and it took me three attempts to hit a target with a spear. And they've given me the same score.

"Nothing," I reply quickly. "I'm fine. Look."

I point at the screen as my image is replaced by my brother's. He also scores nine, which is also what he scored last time. I wonder if this is a trend that's going to continue?

"She's beautiful when you look at her in photographs, isn't she?" says Fortune to Gloss as Enobaria's picture appears on screen.

"She's no less beautiful in real life," I retort sharply. "You're just too terrified to look at her."

Gloss laughs but he soon stops when he turns back to the television. "Eleven."

"You can't honestly be surprised? If there was a ring fight between her and an entire squadron of Peacekeepers then I'd seriously think about betting on her. Give her a closed room full of weapons and she'll convince you she could kill anything."

"That sounds like fear to me," says Lace, not entirely inaccurately.

"Sometimes fear is useful," I reply, deliberately remaining calm because I know it will infuriate her more than any other reaction. "Fear stops people from doing stupid, reckless things. Or sometimes it does," I add, thinking of me and Falco.

She doesn't reply to that and we spend most of the rest of the programme in silence. I exchange a few looks with Gloss when someone surprises us, but that doesn't happen often. Brutus matches our score, which is something I imagine will disappoint him greatly, then Odair pulls a ten, making me think that perhaps he did strip for the Gamemakers after all. Nobody else gets higher than a seven. Until we get to District Twelve.

They both get scores to match their district number and then I know for certain that what we're watching is as carefully rigged as the reaping. I don't care how well she can shoot, there's still no way she could achieve perfection. And the boy certainly couldn't.

My first thought is of what Falco would think of that and it makes me worry all over again. Where is he? Why isn't he here? Why isn't he here with me?

"I'm going downstairs for a minute," I say, making a decision and getting up before I can change my mind.

"Why?"

"You know why, Gloss," I reply, walking towards the door.

"If she wasn't dead then I'd suggest he might be watching the training scores with his wife," says Lace snidely.

"But she is," I snap back. "So you can't."

I don't wait for her response and storm out of the room instead, hoping Gloss doesn't follow me and try to stop me. I have to do this. I have to find him because I'd exchange all of the sponsorship money that's ever been put into the Hunger Games just to see him.

* * *

><p>I hear the crowds that have gathered around the entranceway and in the City Circle before I see them, and then when I see them I wish I couldn't. They're all there, getting on with their perfect lives by marvelling at the latest show, at the Quarter Quell that is being billed as the most exciting Hunger Games in the history of the event. Very few of them stop to consider that people will die for their entertainment. In fact very few of them even consider us to be people at all, or not people like they are anyway. But in a way I'm glad about that. I wouldn't want to be like them.<p>

"Don't look so worried. They aren't allowed in here so they can't come and get you."

I turn around, dragging my attention away from the brightly coloured mob outside, and find Marius standing only a couple of short strides away from me. To my surprise I have to fight back a sudden urge to fall into the arms of the man who for some reason looks like home.

"What are you doing here?" I ask lamely, forcing myself to stand up straight and to stay where I am.

"Claudia decided she was missing the wit and scintillating conversation she associates with spending time in my company," he replies sarcastically, dragging a hand through his thick dark hair. "So here I am. I just couldn't stay away."

Wasn't allowed to stay away would be more accurate, I suspect, but I shake my head and take a step towards him without speaking and without taking my eyes off him. If it weren't for his mannerisms and his build, which is closer to that of my brother than the likes of Tiberius and Corvinus, then I'd never believe anyone who told me he'd been born in One rather than Two if I didn't already know the truth.

"I would value your wit and conversation," I say, nodding in the direction of the entrance to one of the corridors that leads off the main hall and following him when he takes the hint and walks that way. "After all, you've got to be good at something because you certainly can't rely on your high birth to recommend you."

He laughs at my teasing but then quickly becomes serious as we leave the other people milling around the entrance hall behind. "Nice try, de Montfort, but you can't fool me like you fool the rest of them. I know you too well."

"No you don't," I reply, just about meaning it this time. "My brother mentored you in the Games. That doesn't mean you know me."

If I thought that would push him away then I soon realise I was wrong, because all that happens is a deepening of the concern in his expression. He moves closer to me instead of moving away.

"I know enough to know this is hurting you more than anything ever could and that you're pretending to virtually everyone else that it isn't."

"Don't psychoanalyse me, Marius," I reply, my tone a lot softer this time. "We both know you're right but that doesn't mean I want to talk about it. Why are you here? In the Training Centre, I mean. And if you tell me that you were hoping for a glimpse of Enobaria Moreno then I'll make yours the first name to go on my brand new shiny Kill List."

"I thought I might see Gloss," he says, clearly not missing how my mood blackens at the mention of Kill Lists even though I was the one who said it without thinking. "I thought they'd take you both to the Town Hall after the reaping but they changed the rules. I wanted to tell him… I wanted to tell him that I've never forgotten what he did for me when I was a tribute and after the Games, that I'll always remember."

I want to tell him that he can tell Gloss himself when the Quell is all over, but for some reason the words won't come. Whether it's because we're in a semi-public place or because I think he'll try to talk me out of going into the arena with the intention of giving my life for my brother's, I'm not sure, but either way I can't tell him.

"He already knows," I reply, briefly squeezing his hand. "He's always known, you know that."

"Maybe," he says. "I wouldn't have told him anyway. I lost what little courage I had a couple of minutes before I saw you. I was on my way back to my apartment."

"I'll tell him for you," I say quietly. "I promise."

"Thank you," he replies, and this time he's the one who takes my hand in his before starting to walk away.

"Marius?" I call, stopping him before he gets far enough away that he has to let go of my hand. "Have you been out a lot today?"

"Why?"

"I came down here because I was looking for someone. I thought you might have seen him or heard something."

"I haven't," he answers softly, his sad smile telling me he knows I mean Falco. "But I'm sure that…someone won't be away for long."

"I hope not."

"I wasn't going to tell you," he says, making my eyes snap to his instantaneously as I think this is going to be something about Falco, "but I saw your sister before I left home."

"And what did she say?" I ask, not really sure I want to know when the mere thought of Satin brings a lump to my throat and makes my eyes fill with tears.

"I said I saw her not that I spoke to her. She was in front of the Justice Building."

"Doing what?" I say, hearing the mixture of admiration and something that could almost be anxiety in his voice.

"Arguing with the Head Peacekeeper," he replies. "He arrested one of the men who worked in your workshop for sedition and she was…using her position to try and add weight to her claims of his innocence."

"What was the man's name?" I ask, dreading the answer.

"Something Bannerman," he replies. "I can't remember his first name."

My heart sinks as I think of the kindly overseer of the main factory floor, the man who was always good to me whenever I'd been unfortunate enough to have had to endure an audience with my father.

"And?"

"Satin's a good mayoress for District One's people," replies Marius, and I immediately notice how he doesn't say she's good for the Capitol. It makes me worry all the more, thinking that she's causing more trouble for herself than any sensible person in Panem would consider to be safe. "The man's in prison but nothing more. Not yet anyway."

"Not yet," I reply ominously, taking everything he's just said to mean that security and tension back home is reaching levels it's never reached before. "When you get back home can you go and see Satin? Tell her I told her to be careful. Tell her not to be any more stupid than usual," I continue, knowing that if he tells her that then my sister will know the words came from me.

"I'll tell her," he says. "Just like I'm telling you to be careful. I care about you and Gloss, Cashmere. I don't want to see you in that arena."

"I can't do much to change that," I reply, trying and failing to keep my tone light. "But I'll be careful. I'll send Gloss home, and then maybe you'll be able to return some of the kindness he gave to you."

He smiles sadly. "I wish it didn't have to be like this," he says. "I wish this wasn't happening."

"I don't think there's a Victor in Panem who doesn't think the same," I reply, shaking my head and then realising I don't want to say goodbye to him like this. "But do you know what I really think? I think you only think that because you still fancy your chances with Enobaria and you don't want the Quell to get in your way," I tease, not seeing the point of telling him there's a whole lot of history getting in his way more than the Quell ever could.

"Don't tease me," he says laughingly, but then he surprises me completely by stepping forwards and hugging me. "Goodbye, Cashmere."

When he pulls back and quickly walks away down the corridor, I find myself staring after him. All I can think is that he's the first person to openly accept the fact that it's a virtual certainty that I won't be leaving the arena alive.

* * *

><p>I can hear the sound of a woman talking drifting down the corridor towards me as soon as I approach the Level One dining room and I know instantly that it isn't Lace. The voice is Capitol, and far too measured and controlled to belong to my so-called mentor. When I peer inside the room I see Gloss sitting on one of the armchairs and Narissa perched on one of its arms. She leans against him as she grips his hand, which rests nonchalantly on her thigh in a way that instantly makes me wonder if there's anyone else besides my brother who could get away with such a casual display of familiarity. I'd never dare to ask him. However then I notice how tight and serious her expression is and how it contains very little of her usual flirtatious teasing.<p>

"Why is it that you can always get in here?" I ask her, standing in the open doorway and making no move to step forwards. "Most people would just accept it's against the rules and forget about it."

"I'm not most people, Cashmere," she replies, smiling coyly back at me. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "And lovely though your little brother always is, it's you I'm here to see."

"Me?"

"He needs you, I thought you should know."

I don't need to ask her who she's talking about to know she means Falco, and her words make me forget any suspicion I feel immediately, replacing it with a fear that turns my blood to ice. I stride across the room towards her, only just managing to stop myself a short distance away when my instinct is to shake what she knows out of her before she has chance to think about playing games. All I can think of are his final words to the president that day in his office three months ago. All I can think is that he's gone and done something stupid because he thought it would protect me.

"Where is he?"

"Paradise," replies Narissa flatly, obviously struggling to hide how much she's enjoying my confusion.

"What? Why? He hates that place," I say, shuddering at the thought of the most notorious club in the Capitol.

"We needed to talk about something," she answers, standing up and then moving close, placing a tiny and perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder to support herself as she leans up to whisper in my ear. "Hiding in plain sight seemed the best option."

She means the rebellion then, and as usual I can't help smiling at the thought that the plot didn't die when President Snow announced the Quarter Quell. But my smile fades when I think of how little I truly understand.

"Why is he still there? What are you involved in now? If you're involving him in your schemes…"

"Then you'll do what, little tribute girl?" she replies, suddenly vicious and deadly serious. "If he'd never met you then he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. He wouldn't feel the need to prop up the bar in Paradise and drown his sorrows."

"Narissa, that's enough," snaps Gloss, getting up so quickly that I barely see him move so he can pull us apart. "You can't blame Cashmere for any of this."

To my amazement, the Capitolian woman nods once and steps away, and though it's just a pace backwards accompanied by an almost imperceptible gesture, I'm shocked all the same. Never before have I seen her willingly concede anything to anyone, and coming from someone like Narissa, that was almost like surrender.

"Perhaps not," she replies, "but what I said to start with isn't a lie."

Gloss looks like he's going to argue so I raise my hand to stop him. "No, Gloss, it's true what she says. If Falco had never met me then this wouldn't be happening."

"Do you regret it, Cashmere?" asks Narissa suddenly, the venom gone from her voice as quickly as it appeared. "That's what you have to ask yourself."

"No," I tell her, speaking instantly and without hesitation. "I love him."

"Then for the love of Panem, go and tell him that. This is tearing him apart."

I stare back at her for several seconds before I feel able to reply, and when I eventually do, my words are barely audible even to me.

"I know that. But I can't stop it any more than he can. Nobody can stop the Quell, Narissa. Nobody but the person who created it and we all know he'll never stop."

I spin on my heel then, heading out of the room and down the corridor towards the front door. Narissa calls after me but I ignore her. It's only when Gloss joins in that I stop and turn back.

"Cash, where are you going?"

"Paradise," I reply. "Where do you think?"

"You can't go there."

"I'm a big girl, Gloss. I can look after myself."

I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows he won't be able to dissuade me, and when I tell him I'll see him later on and set off down the corridor again, he doesn't try to stop me leaving.

I've never felt as torn as I do now. I can't forget how I could only have two days to live and I simply don't know where I should be. I want to spend every last minute with Gloss but I want to do the same with Falco as well. There just aren't enough hours in the day and minutes before the start of the Games left, and as I leave the Training Centre, I do so feeling that I wish it was all over, that if the arena was tomorrow then at least I'd have a resolution to all this. It's a strange feeling and one I don't like, but I nevertheless I can't seem to fight it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you to all of you who have supported me with this story so far. It means a lot :) I hope you're all still reading.<strong>_


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

When I get there, it's to find a Paradise Club that is even more crowded than it was the last time I was here. The Quarter Quell is in full swing and a large proportion of the Capitol citizens seem to think that's a cause for celebration. I can't stand to look at them. I can't bear the thought of how much they'll cheer when I die.

Despite how much time that's passed, the place looks exactly the same. Everywhere I look there are people and I suddenly understand why Falco and Narissa chose to meet here. It's so crowded that there's no better place in the city for two people who don't normally blend to attempt to fade into the background.

Falco sees me instantly despite the noise and the crowds, and he stands up just as quickly. The Capitolians continue to dance around us despite how a lot of them pause slightly to stare, and the bass thumping in the background fills my ears. That's what makes me think. Or maybe I should say that's what makes me stop thinking.

I walk slowly towards him, my eyes locked with his, and when I get close enough I take his hands in mine, pulling him to the dance floor.

"Butterfly, no," he says, but his expression tells me something very different.

"They can't hurt us any more than they already have," I reply, lowering his hands to my hips and stepping forwards so there's no distance between us. "This is Paradise, Falco. Nobody cares what we do." And even if they do then I don't care, but I keep that thought to myself.

"The president funds the running of this place," he whispers, leaning down so closely that his lips brush my ear. "He has spies everywhere."

"And I'm sure he's got hidden cameras everywhere too," I retort, noticing how he's objecting but not backing away from me by even a millimetre. "But what's he going to do? Kill me? Send my brother back into the arena? He's done it all already. So shut up and dance with me properly."

He smiles and pulls me even closer, leaving it impossible for the people crowded into the packed club to doubt what they're seeing. If anyone thinks I'm an unwilling slave dancing with a paying client then they're both blind and stupid.

As we sway back and forth and Falco pushes me away only to immediately yank me back against him once more, I can feel them all watching us. But I don't care. This isn't dancing, this is rebellion. Our own personal rebellion, and when I look into Falco's eyes, I can tell he's thinking exactly the same.

But then the music stops, and though there is only a brief pause before a different track begins, it's enough to make me pause as well, to make me pull away from Falco just enough to really see the people watching us.

"What are you all staring at?" I snap loudly. "Can't quite believe someone like me is capable of independent thought? Well I am. And this is my choice."

I slowly look around, meeting each person's eyes in turn and glaring at them until they turn away. I can tell that most of them understand what I was trying to say even if they can't begin to comprehend why I'm angry. Most people don't come to a place like this unless they're wealthy and privileged enough to know about what happens here. And most of them know that virtually every Victor who they've seen isn't keeping company with them out of choice.

"Let's go," whispers Falco, taking my arm lightly. "You shouldn't be somewhere like this."

"Neither should you," I whisper back, trying to smile.

He takes my hand and leads me from the dance floor and towards the exit. For some reason he feels simultaneously too close and nowhere near close enough, and I don't know whether I should push him away or hold onto him like my life depends on it.

In the end I compromise by doing nothing and gripping his hand tightly. We're almost at the elaborate spiral staircase that leads up and out of here when a dark-skinned woman steps out of the shadows to block our way. She instantly focuses on Falco and doesn't even spare a glance for me.

"You shouldn't have done that," she tells him quietly. "Don't be a fool. Get out of this mess you've got yourself into while you can. Don't waste your life like my father did."

I narrow my eyes at her, somehow deciding she's talking about both me and the rebellion even though she's only said a couple of short sentences. However she continues to ignore me, her black eyes staring up at Falco as she waits for his response.

"I might be a fool," he replies eventually. "But I made my choice a long time ago. And I wouldn't change it. I couldn't now, not even if I wanted to. You can't choose who you fall in love with."

"Goodbye, Falco," says the woman, shaking her head almost sadly.

"Goodbye," he replies, taking my hand and leading me past her.

* * *

><p>"Who was that?" I ask as soon as we're back in the car and on the way back to the Training Centre.<p>

"Can't you guess?"

"Guess?"

"By looking at her," he replies. "She's got nothing of her mother in her at all."

I think about the woman, about her dark skin and eyes and heavy build. Then I remember what she said and I think I know.

"I didn't know Vespasian had children."

"Only Sancia."

"She wants you to forget about me and save yourself," I say flatly, finally telling him the first thought I had when I heard what the woman called Sancia had to say to him. "I agree with her."

"And I'm not having this conversation," he replies, his tone so firm and definite that it instantly weakens what little resolve I had to drive him away.

I quickly decide it's easier to rest my head on his shoulder and say nothing so that's what I do. I haven't had many easy choices in my life so I let myself get away with that one. For a short time at least. I will have to find the strength to walk away from him at some point, but not now. There's still time.

* * *

><p>As soon as Falco closes the door behind himself as he leaves me alone in my room back on Level One of the Training Centre after we finally return from the club, I want nothing more than to chase after him so he doesn't go. But instead I spend several minutes staring blankly at the door handle, because I can't chase after him. It's already light outside and it's interview preparation day today. I have to concentrate.<p>

However the next question I ask myself is 'why?'. What am I going to learn today that I don't already know about what to do when giving an interview for the Capitol? I've lost count of how many I've done since I won the Games. And would I rather spend half of the day with Lace than the whole of it with Falco?

My mind made up, I dart out of the dining room and along the corridor, and when I throw open the main door it's to find Falco standing there looking back at me, his arm raised as he reaches for the handle.

"I tried but I couldn't leave you."

"I tried but I couldn't watch you go," I quip back, laughing when he smirks at me.

"Come on," he says, taking my hand and dragging me towards the lift doors.

"Falco, stop!" I shout, temporarily forgetting myself and the situation as I laugh and pretend to try and pull him back. "Where are we going?"

"Home," he replies softly. "My home. The real one, not the apartment. I want you to see it. I need you to see it."

I follow him silently into the lift as the doors slide open despite the massive number of questions suddenly flying around in my mind. I've never been to Falco's childhood home before, not properly. Not since I went to the party he held before the Games when I was a tribute for the first time. That was when we'd only just met and we hardly knew each other.

Now I know him like I do, I know he doesn't like to talk about his past. It's the one thing I've never pushed him on, because any worries and reservations I had about it have long since been pushed to the back of my mind when I decided that what happened before I met him only matters if it affects the person standing in front of me in the present.

And then there's Astoria. She might have died three years ago following a cosmetic surgery procedure that went horribly wrong, a rare genuine accident in a city where old-age and overindulgence are usually the only natural causes of death, but I always thought he associated that house with her and never mention it.

"I love you, Falco," is all I say in the end, speaking before we reach the entrance hall and forgetting to care if there's anyone else listening. It feels strange to say the words out loud.

* * *

><p>The front of the house is virtually unchanged. The pathway cutting through the middle of the perfectly manicured lawns is still lined with the brightly coloured flowers I've never seen outside the Capitol, the massive door is still painted a dark, glossy red. It looks either like something out of a magazine or like something out of a dream, and just like last time it's a struggle to stop myself from staring.<p>

"It needs a water feature or something," I tease as Falco hustles me out of the car while whispering that we should go inside before anyone sees us. "It's a bit…lacking."

"How right I was when I said back then that you're difficult to please," he replies lightly, failing dismally not to laugh as we virtually run down the path.

"Not so difficult now you know me," I say, rolling my eyes and hitting him when he gets that look in his eyes as we stumble inside. "Falco Hazelwell, not everything is a sexual innuendo," I continue. "Honestly, when I think of your elevated position in society… The influence you have over people… It's simply not acceptable."

"I didn't say a word, _Miss de Montfort_," he retorts smugly. "You're the one with the mind that jumps so readily to such conclusions."

"You looked at me," I reply. "And I know what you're thinking when you look at me like that."

"I'm not thinking anything I don't normally think when I look at you, Butterfly."

"Exactly," I say, but I'm not looking at him now. Instead I'm looking up at the massive staircase and the equally huge chandelier suspended from the ceiling above it.

"You've seen it before," he replies, the teasing note not quite leaving his voice as he follows the direction of my gaze.

"The chandelier's new."

"No, it's old. Father replaced it when I was younger because it was Mother's but I put it back."

"I like that one better," I reply, not wanting to ruin one of the few happy moments I've had these past three months by pushing him too far.

"So do I," he says, once more giving me the impression that there's more to this than just a switch of light fittings.

He doesn't say anything more for several minutes after that, and his expression makes me decide the thoughts that are distracting him aren't all pleasant.

"Well then," I say loudly, stepping forwards and deliberately imitating the commanding body language of a wealthy Capitolian addressing her inferiors that I've seen so many times before. "Am I going to get the guided tour or not?"

"What's it worth?" he replies playfully, snapping out of his trance as soon as I move.

"Everything," I say. "For another couple of days anyway."

"Don't," he replies. "Don't. Just for today. Today is the day where tomorrow doesn't exist and the day after that certainly doesn't."

"Where to first then?" I ask. If he wants to spend the day in denial of reality then I'm more than willing and happy to join him.

He leads me across the hall into what looks like a sitting room even though it's vast and every last bit as grand as Phoebe's back in the City Circle. I walk slowly towards the carved dark wood fireplace and that's when I see the two portraits hanging above it. The first is of an official and important looking man in a black suit, his skin mahogany brown and his eyes golden. I suspect they're not entirely natural. This is the Capitol after all. It's only when I look more closely at the man's high cheekbones and strong jaw line that I realise why he looks so familiar.

"That's your father," I say as Falco stops by my side. I don't need him to confirm what I've already worked out but he does anyway.

"Yes," he replies. "And that's my mother."

I turn my attention to the next portrait, which shows a woman several years younger than the man. Her skin is several shades lighter than her son's but she has the same dark eyes I know so well. Hers look happy and seem to be twinkling with the knowledge that she knows something nobody else does, but when I look at Falco he seems thoughtful and almost sad.

He's barely spoken of his parents in all the time I've known him and I'm used to family secrets so I've never felt the need to ask. As with his general background and history, I decided a long time ago that it didn't matter, but now I've changed my mind. If I don't ask him now then I never will. But I'm not supposed to be thinking like that today so I force the thought away.

"What happened?" I ask, half expecting him to tell me of her tragic death or something even worse.

"My father inherited his position from his father, and the Hazelwells have been wealthy and influential since just after the Dark Days. But you know that already," he says when I nod in slightly impatient understanding. "Mother was an actress. Father used to watch her on the stage and wait for her when the show had finished. Eventually she fell for him. When I got older she used to say that he first fell in love with her sense of freedom and independence but then spent the next decade trying to trap her in a cage. He tried to transform her into the model high society Capitolian wife and she rebelled in the end."

"What happened to her?"

"She packed her bags one night and left. I was thirteen."

"And?"

"She's living on the other side of the city in one of those tiny apartments. With a reporter, if the gossips are to be believed. She lost virtually everything tangible she had, but last time I spoke to her she sounded very happy."

"You should go and see her."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"I can tell," I reply. "Thirteen year old Falco couldn't forgive her for walking out on him and adult Falco is too stubborn to swallow his pride."

"You know me too well, Butterfly."

"I should hope so," I retort, before continuing in a much softer voice. "When this is all over, you should go and see her. Life's too short for holding a grudge like that."

And if you hurt that much when she left then you must have loved each other. So maybe she can help you when I'm gone. But I don't say any of that aloud. If I did then I'd only hurt us both. And this is our day of denial. I have to remember that, no matter how much denial still feels like goodbye.

However as soon as he kisses me and holds me so tightly that I almost can't breathe, I know he knew what I was thinking anyway.

"Aren't you going to show me the rest of the house before I see the bedroom?" I ask, trying to lighten his mood again. "It's only ten in the morning."

"I never noticed," he replies, still not letting me go.

"I'm not going anywhere, Falco," I tell him, suddenly very serious. "Not until tomorrow morning. And we're not thinking about tomorrow, remember?"

He stares at me for a minute before taking my hand and leading me out of the room and further down the corridor.

"I remember," he says, but all I can think is that neither of us sound very convinced.

* * *

><p>"Why do they always stay there?" I ask plaintively as the car comes to a stop outside the front of the Training Centre many hours later and I catch my first glimpse of the many reporters waiting by the main doors. "It's the early hours of the morning. Don't they have homes to go to?"<p>

"Not when the Games are on," replies Falco darkly. "You know that as well as I do."

I shake my head and shuffle backwards again, sitting deeper into the seat because I really don't feel ready to face the questions and the cameras. He can see what I'm doing and I know he's about to tell me we can't stay here forever, but I pout slightly and he lets me maintain the pretence for a little longer.

"Narissa came to tell me where you were. Did you know that?"

"No," he replies. "But she'll have told you why I was with her as well then?"

"Yes," I say. "Sort of. And I don't want you to get mixed up in that again. It's too dangerous."

"I'm not mixed up in anything," he answers immediately, but I know him well enough to know when he's humouring me and telling me what I want to hear.

"Liar," I tell him, but there's no real strength in my voice. How can I criticise him for fighting for what he believes is right? Especially when I'd have been there fighting with him if it hadn't have been for the Quell.

"Come on," he says, putting his arm across my shoulders and momentarily squeezing me tight. "If I don't get you back upstairs soon then your prep team will be looking for you. And I don't even want to think about what would happen then."

"I don't want to think about my prep team," I reply. "I don't know how I'm going to endure it again. If Cerelia tells me how she can't contain her excitement over the Games one more time then she may be watching the arena from a hospital bed."

"Now, Butterfly, that's not very nice, is it?" he teases, smirking down at me. "I think you've been spending a bit too much time with Ursala."

I smile and let him get out of the car first, and the questions and the flashing lights start before he's even stepped back to allow me to follow him. This time they're all asking us about our relationship, about Falco's opinion of the Quell and about dancing at the Paradise Club. I've always hated the place and everything it stands for, but despite that I instantly wish we were still there.

The mob crowds in around us before we have chance to reach the doors, and when I look for a path through, all I see is a mass of people getting closer and closer. Falco takes my hand and tries to push through, but it's only when the sound of a new voice rings out loud and clear over the noise of the masses that they finally back off enough to let us past.

"I don't mean to spoil the party," says the Capitolian woman who balances on the narrow boundary wall with apparent ease in impossibly high heels, "but I've just heard the Gamemakers are about to leave the Control Room. I thought you might want to know."

The effect those words have is instantaneous, and suddenly Falco and I have a clear path to the doors as our assailants make a mass exodus down the side of the building in the hope of having the opportunity to question those planning the spectacle the entire country is about to witness.

"Gamemakers?" asks a now smiling Falco of the woman. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

"No," she replies, flicking her long blonde hair back behind her shoulders. "But I expect you to be _very_ grateful."

"Of course," he says, smiling sarcastically and sketching her a mocking bow. "You have my undying gratitude for all eternity."

"I should hope so," she answers, grinning widely as she jumps lightly down and stops only a very short distance away.

She's so close that I can smell her perfume, and just like I do when I'm this close to Narissa, I find myself almost envying her delicate Capitolian perfection. Her hair's a darker gold than mine, her eyes the blue of the sky at twilight rather than midday, and I shuffle almost self-consciously when I look closely at her and can see no sign that her beauty is artificial.

"If you see her before I do then tell 'Rissa to mind her own business," says Falco, and I get the impression that he's failed to sound anywhere near as angry as he wanted to.

"I'll tell her," replies the woman, "but since when has she ever listened to me?"

"Tell her anyway."

The woman smirks and turns away with a swish of her hair and bright red coat, leaving me staring blankly after her.

"Come inside," says Falco, taking my arm gently. "Before the reporters realise the Gamemakers have no intention of leaving the Control Room and come back."

"Who was she? Why did she do that?"

"Surely you can see why by the general lack of reporters."

"Stop being facetious, Falco," I snap, smiling all the same. "Tell me."

"Vesper works with Narissa. They're...friends. 'Rissa probably asked her to do it. For me."

"Oh," I reply, not knowing what else to say. "And is she...?"

"On the right side? Yes, she is. She's very good at getting to where she shouldn't be to pass messages on."

I nod and keep walking, taking that to mean that she did what I did for Achillea only on a much grander scale.

"And now?"

"She's Narissa's friend."

I know better than to expect more of an explanation when we're walking across the Training Centre entranceway so I don't ask, and once we've reached the lifts and the time has come to say goodbye again, I quickly forget all about the woman anyway. It takes more strength than I knew I still possessed to walk away, but it's true what Falco said. If the prep team have to come looking for me then that will never work out well.

* * *

><p>I've only just taken my cardigan off and sat down on the edge of the bed when Serica and Cerelia burst through the door. Once more they're both exclaiming about how excited they are and how thrilled they are that today has finally arrived. It seems to take them several attempts to process the fact that I'm dressed already rather than in bed.<p>

"Couldn't you sleep?" gushes Serica. "I'm not surprised. You must be desperate to get on that stage in your beautiful dress."

I know I should speak but I can't find words. It's true that I didn't sleep last night, but not for any reasons involving thoughts of the City Circle stage. The past hours I've spent with Falco felt like goodbye, and I know he felt it too even if neither of us could bring ourselves to say it. Which is a big part of why I wish the two women in the room with me would just disappear.

"Have you seen my dress?" I manage eventually, but I know the answer before they reply. Felix keeps his most important creations to himself until the last minute and he won't even have shown Drusilla.

"Not yet," answers Cerelia. "But I'm sure it will be amazing," she continues, dragging out every syllable of her last word for as long as she possibly can.

"I'm sure it will," I say, agreeing with her both because I honestly believe whatever Felix has made for me will be amazing and because it's simply the only reply I feel capable of giving. "Is it really going to take all day to get me ready?"

"We thought we'd make an early start," replies Serica, making my heart sink immediately. "We can stay here so there's no need to wait for a room to be free like last time."

I sigh and stand up, forcing myself to accept that I have no choice but to go along with the plan. Truthfully I don't really think I have the strength to object. But then I hear a knock at the door and I stop, turning towards it and calling for whoever it is to come in before the two Capitolian women can protest.

"What is it, Gloss?" I ask, trying to keep the relief from showing on my face at the sight of him even though I know there's no point because he'll see it instantly anyway. "My prep's started," I add, gesturing at Serica and Cerelia.

"Lucretia's here," he replies, looking slightly apprehensive.

"And?"

"The review board need your district tokens," says my brother's stylist as she steps into the room, glancing at her junior colleagues appraisingly before turning her attention back to me. "Felix asked me to get yours as well."

Then before she's even stopped speaking I realise what her words mean. District tokens. One for me and one for Gloss. The only thing other than the clothes the Gamemakers dress us in that we're allowed to take into the arena. And that means I have to choose. The necklace I wear in memory of Sapphire and the life I once had, or the bracelet Falco gave to me because he could never give me a wedding ring. It suddenly feels so much like choosing between one part of my life and the other that I can't think straight.

"Cashmere?" says Lucretia as she peers curiously across at me.

"I… Can I…?"

I don't know what I'm trying to say. Can you give me longer to think about it? Can you make them decide to change the rules so I'm allowed to die wearing both pieces of jewellery that symbolise so much? Can you tell me why making a choice between two simple things feels so much like choosing between Gloss and Falco? But I don't get chance to ask any of these questions. Instead I watch in silence as Gloss steps towards me.

He stops directly in front of me and immediately moves my hair to the side so he can unclasp my necklace. He gently pulls it away and twists the chain around his fingers while he takes my bracelet off as well. He turns back to Lucretia before I can stop him.

"This is Cash's," he tells her, holding out the bracelet so she can take it. "And this is mine," he continues, dropping my necklace into her outstretched hand before looking at me once again. "I hope you'll trust me to borrow it for a short time. Then you can have it back."

"I'd rather you kept it," I whisper. "The last time I saw you wearing it was when you came back to me."

He smiles, tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, and then follows Lucretia out of the room, leaving me to the mercies of Cerelia and Serica.

They flap around for several minutes, describing all of the preparations the city has made for the Quell, all of the special television broadcasts and how they feel almost ready to burst with excitement. After a very short time, I feel ready to burst as well, but I can say with absolute certainty that it isn't out of excitement.

As soon as they mention Felix I jump on the welcome change of subject immediately, telling them both how wonderful my stylist is because it's the only thing I trust myself to say.

"It's very nice of you to say so, Miss de Montfort," says a familiar voice from the corridor.

When Felix steps into view, surrounded by the elaborately carved door frame, it's an effort to prevent myself from running across the room and jumping into his arms.

"It's true," I reply, settling for standing up and never taking my eyes off him.

"I want to prepare Cashmere myself today," he says, his expression telling me he doesn't miss the disappointment on Serica and Cerelia's faces. "You can come back before we go down to the City Circle so you won't miss out."

The two women brighten considerably when he says that, and they leave the room discussing how they hope Finnick Odair's costume resembles the one he wore five days ago at the Opening Ceremony. Was it really five days ago? It feels like five minutes and five years have passed, both at the same time.

"Why? Is it them you don't trust or me?" I ask teasingly once the sound of their voices has faded away.

"I thought you might be ready to talk now."

"Talk? I don't need to talk. I told you I'm fine."

He doesn't look convinced but he smiles and disappears into the bathroom anyway, telling me that Drusilla isn't here because she's putting the finishing touches to my shoes. I try to focus on that so I don't think about anything else, but I'm still relieved when he returns a few minutes later to say my bath's ready. I expect him to follow but he merely holds the door open for me and then leaves me to it.

* * *

><p>I wipe the steam from the mirror on the wall so I can stare at my reflection, suddenly realising that the next time I'm in a similar position will be when I'm in my Launch Room. Tomorrow. This time tomorrow I might not be alive.<p>

I struggle over to the bath, undress and climb in. However by the time I'm ready to place my hands on the hairdryer there are tears streaming freely down my face and nothing I do will make them stop.

When the door opens and Felix appears, he takes one look and wraps a blanket around me, pulling me against him and half-carrying me back to the bedroom. Then all of the fear I've fought and suppressed for the past three months abruptly refuses to remain contained for another second.

"Do you think it will hurt?" I stammer eventually, not looking up from where I've buried my face against my friend's neck, soaking his skin with my tears. "Do you think it will be…quick? Or will they kill me like they killed Cato? Give the audience a good show. Everyone will like that. But I'll scream, I know I will. And Victory will see, and-"

"You're not going to die, Cashmere. You didn't die nine years ago and you're not going to die now."

I barely even hear him as I sit trembling in his arms. I am going to die. The Hunger Games only has one Victor and it has to be Gloss.

"What do you think happens to a person when they die, Felix?" I ask, sounding a little steadier this time. "Where will I go?"

"I don't know," he replies, finally speaking after minutes of silence. "I like to think we see those we love who have already left us."

"I hope so," I whisper, putting my arms around him and holding on tight as I try to work out if he means that or if he's just trying to make me feel better.

I soon realise that I don't care.

* * *

><p>"Can I see the dress before I'm wearing it, Felix?" I ask several hours later, laughing slightly weakly as he hovers behind the half open door and tells me to close my eyes, clearly still trying to make me smile despite the situation. "Just this once," I continue, stopping myself just before I say 'Just for this last time'.<p>

"No," he replies, and I can hear his smile in his words. "I won't let you ruin the effect and spoil my fun."

"Fine," I say, sighing deeply in mock exasperation.

"Are your eyes closed?"

"Yes," I reply, struggling both not to laugh and not to open my eyes as I hear him walk into the room.

He helps me into the dress and spends a couple of minutes arranging it how he wants it. If I had any other stylist then I think I'd be worried because it's so light that I almost feel like I'm not wearing anything at all, but I trust him. I've always trusted him.

Then I open my eyes and see a golden and sequinned dress that is as sheer as Glimmer's was, however my version has another layer underneath that stops it from being at all see through. It's closer in length to my Opening Ceremony dress than virtually anything else Felix has put me in before, the material abruptly ending midway on my thigh. However that isn't what makes me narrow my eyes in confusion.

"What are these for?" I ask him, raising my arms and nodding at the fine ribbons of golden silk that seem to be attached to the collar.

Felix doesn't answer me, but instead crosses over to the table and retrieves three highly varnished wooden boxes. He opens the first one and removes what looks like a very heavy gold bangle, which he then proceeds to put around my wrist before somehow attaching it to the silk ribbons. I soon discover it's nowhere near as heavy as it looks.

He says nothing as he does the same on my other side and then takes a matching gold choker out of the last and biggest box. When I look at myself in the mirror my first thought is of a collar and chains, and then I can't think of anything else no matter how hard I try to see the garment's beauty.

"What's this, Felix?" I whisper, unable to contain my thoughts any longer. "A gilded representation of the Capitol's suppression of the districts?"

He sighs and adjusts the golden choker without speaking. It feels cold against my skin, and when I raise my arms, the heavy bracelets jangle almost like the manacles I suspect they represent.

"It's just a dress, Cashmere," he says mildly, but his expression tells me a very different story. "It sparkles like any other. And you've said often enough that they like you in sparkly things."

I raise my eyebrows sceptically at him, hoping to convey how I really don't believe him without actually saying anything aloud. The way he shakes his head back at me tells me he knows.

"Don't you think you might have gone a little too far this time?" I ask tentatively, watching him intently as he fusses with the remaining loose strands of silk until they stay where he's decided they should be.

He laughs lightly. "Trust me, Cashmere, nobody will notice but us. This is subtle in comparison."

"Comparison to what? Felix?"

I call after him when he heads towards the door instead of responding, but he doesn't stop.

"You need your shoes. Drusilla should have finished them by now," he calls, and the sound of the door closing behind him suddenly seems very loud.

After a few seconds I sigh deeply just to break the silence, but it very quickly returns so I decide to try looking out of the window to see if that distracts me. It does, but not in a good way. All I can see is a vast crowd of people, massing to witness the ceremony they've been waiting for. It isn't long before I move away and return to sit on the bed. I have no choice. However hard it is, I have to sit here and wait.

* * *

><p>I look at the clock on the mantelpiece and immediately look away again. It's almost time, and though the room seems colder and emptier without Felix, I almost don't want him to return. I know that when he does I'll have to go downstairs. I'll have to spend what could be the last evening of my life sitting on a stage in the City Circle for the amusement of the mob.<p>

It wouldn't be so bad if I could tell them what I really think of them, and the thought of doing just that is what makes me push myself to my feet. Then I hear a hard tapping at the door and I know it isn't my stylist.

"Who is it?"

"For the love of Panem, District One. Let me in before someone sees me."

I virtually fly over to the door, opening it just enough for me to reach out into the corridor, grab Ursala and pull her into the room. I hastily let her arm go when I realise what I did, but she merely laughs.

"Don't look so worried," she says, shaking her head in exasperation. "I don't bite if you touch me. I'm not Moreno."

"Ursala, how did you get in here?"

"Well, people have these things called feet," she replies sarcastically. "If you tell them where you want to go then they usually take you there."

"Very funny," I say, waving my hands at her and only remembering my dress when the metal cuffs jangle. "You shouldn't be in here. I'm being serious."

"And that's a serious dress," she replies, looking me critically up and down as she totally ignores the rest of what I said. "If it weren't for the rumours I've heard flying around then I'd have put money on you stealing the show."

"Rumours?" I ask, abruptly remembering Felix's earlier words that confused me so greatly.

"That Everdeen's going to turn up for the interview dressed in her bridal white."

"What? Why?"

"The same reason you're going to be standing on the stage with her."

"Punishment?"

She nods, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and pulling the hem of her dress a little closer to her knees.

"And you crept in here to tell me that?" I ask, sitting back down again and staring up at her. "You'll get into trouble if they find you."

"I came here to see you," she replies, trailing off because she doesn't need to add 'in case I don't get another chance' or 'in case you don't come back'.

She sits down next to me, the sofa pushing us together so her leg rests against mine. Only then can I tell how tense she is, and it makes me wonder for what must be the thousandth time since I won the Games if the people of District Two are actually born with the ability to conceal their true feelings.

"How did we end up becoming friends?" I ask her eventually. "What were the chances?"

"Astraea trusted you and Astraea hardly trusts anyone. And I just happened to hear you giving Tiberius as good as you got. It made me decide you weren't like you seem in the interviews," she replies, and her words remind me of Falco telling me he half fell in love with me after listening to me arguing with a Peacekeeper back home before I came to the Games for the first time. It seems people still judge me differently when they hear me speak and some things never change.

"Why don't you hate me?" I say, the question I've longed to ask her for years without ever finding the right moment suddenly spilling out in a way that makes me think perhaps my subconscious realises I'm running out of time.

"Hate you? Why would I hate you?"

"Because there was nobody to rescue you from…what you've endured since you won the Games."

The last thing I expected her to do was laugh at me, but laugh she does, and she laughs even more when she sees my confused expression.

"You seriously think… Oh, Cashmere, you really are as dense as you look sometimes. If I hadn't had Velia then I'd have told Snow to shove his business deal where the sun doesn't shine and lived or died with the consequences, but I did so I made a different choice. _I _did. It has nothing to do with you."

"But…"

"I get jealous of you, Cashmere. I can't deny it. I see you follow Falco Hazelwell and his friends out of banquets and parties and I wish it were me in your place, but that doesn't mean I would wish what happens to me on you."

"I didn't think you would," I reply softly. "I just…"

"I don't hate you," she says. "Just like you don't hate that stupid Fire-girl, not really."

"I do hate her," I reply, suddenly considering for the first time ever that a lot of what I feel towards Katniss Everdeen involves some form of jealousy. Then I push the thought away. There's no way I'd want to be like her. "But I'm not so cruel that I hate her because she didn't have to face the Victor's Game," I continue, trying to express my feelings but struggling to find the right words to properly describe something I've never spoken of before. "I hate her because she has no idea how lucky she is, or at least how lucky she was before the Quell."

"Sometimes I think the truly lucky ones are the ones who go into the arena for the first time and never come out," she whispers, resting her head briefly on my shoulder before sharply sitting back up again. "The collar on that dress is lethal," she says, laughing and pretending to rub her temple.

"Sorry," I reply, smiling apologetically.

She smiles back and shrugs her shoulders before pulling the hem of her dress down again. "It'd be so nice if just for once my stylist would remember that there isn't a fabric shortage in the Capitol," she says, looking down at it in a way that suddenly reminds me of the expression she wore in the arena.

"I don't think that's going to happen until you start to look old, District Two," I tease, nudging her with my elbow. She doesn't move in response, but when she nudges me back I struggle to keep my balance.

"I have to go," she says, gracefully rising to her feet in one fluid movement. "Stay alive, District One."

I stand up as well and before I realise what I'm doing I throw my arms around her waist, hugging her as tightly as I'd hug Gloss or Felix. She tenses for a second but then she hugs me too, smoothing my hair down my back as I try desperately not to start crying again. Her touch is firm but oddly comforting, and I find myself almost envying Velia. It must be nice to have a mother like Ursala to run to.

"They're coming now," she tells me, and seconds after she does I hear footsteps in the corridor. "It's time."

I nod sadly and pull away, not bothering to conceal the despair I abruptly find I can't fight. Ursala takes one look at me and slaps my face, not hard enough to mark my skin but certainly hard enough to shock me and break my trance.

"What in Panem was that for?" I snap, raising my hand to my cheek.

"Don't you dare go out there looking defeated," she replies sharply. "Do you want him to have the satisfaction of thinking he's beaten you?"

"No," I retort instantly.

"Then don't let him see how you're really feeling. Go out there looking like a proper Victor, like a District Two Victor if you think you can manage it, and don't let him win."

"I…"

"Chin up, back straight, walk tall. For me," she says, her voice commanding but her expression softer than I've ever seen it.

"I will. I promise."

"Then I have to go," she says, and when Felix opens the door she sprints forwards and is halfway down the corridor before he recovers enough to stare after her.

"Ursala," I tell him, scowling at myself because of how my voice trembles so much that I sound like I'm going to cry again. "I think she came to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry, Cashmere," he says sadly. "But it's time to go."

He opens the door wider for me and I leave the room quickly. Before my courage deserts me. Despite what I promised Ursala, I'm not sure it's going to last the night.

* * *

><p><em>I'm guessing (hoping) that a lot of you are quiet because you're waiting for the interviews and the arena... If that's the case then you won't have to wait long as the 'real' end begins next week. If you're following the story then please let me know. And to my regular reviewers, thank you for your support, I'm nearly at the end now :)<em>


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

I step out into the corridor to find Gloss already there waiting for me, immaculate in his suit and with a golden tie that matches my dress. Apparently they still can't let go of the coordination theme even now.

The first thing I do is unfasten the shining fabric and undo the top button of his shirt, adjusting the collar so it looks a little less perfect.

"It looks better like that," I say, forcing myself to sound as bright as I can when he raises his eyebrows questioningly at me.

"Who is his sister and who is his stylist, Cashmere?" asks Lucretia slightly bad-temperedly, but I notice she makes no move towards Gloss to readjust his clothes.

I roll my eyes at her in response and Felix laughs, but I'm not thinking about my brother's outfit now. I scan the corridor, searching for Falco, but he isn't there. My heart sinks instantly.

"Where is he?" I whisper. "He promised me that he'd be here."

"I don't think he could bear to see you on the stage again. Even the thought of it hurt too much."

How about me? That's all I can think even though I know I'm being selfish. How about how much it's hurting me? I'm not sure I can lead the line of Victor-tributes onto the City Circle stage if he isn't there. And what if he doesn't come back at all? He left me without saying goodbye last time but that was different. I can't stand the thought of never seeing him again.

"We have to go," says Felix quietly. "We'll be late if we don't. I'm sorry, Cashmere."

"It's fine," I reply, not feeling at all fine really. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Unusually the lift isn't there waiting for us when we get there, so I stand close to Gloss and wait. Once again I wish this was all over and think that even being in the arena would be better than this. Waiting like this is worse. At least in the arena I won't have time to think.<p>

"That's a dangerous level of symbolism there, my friend," says Falco to Felix, staring at me from his position in the lift once the doors have slid open. I don't know whether to kiss him for being there or kill him for making me think he'd never arrive.

"Only because you were there when I designed it," replies my stylist. "Nobody else will have a clue."

"I did," I say immediately, worried for him.

"You would," he says just as quickly, and though his words are sharp, his expression tells me he didn't mean that as an insult.

"We have to go _now_," interrupts Lucretia, shepherding us all into the lift and pushing the button for the ground floor.

I stand close to Falco, lifting my arm so he can pretend to inspect the thick gold bracelet suspended around my wrist because it means he doesn't have to move away.

"Are you still going to do what you said?" he hisses, making Gloss narrow his eyes at us.

"Of course," I reply immediately. "Why wouldn't I?"

"It's dangerous."

"Do you think I care about that now?" I say, only thinking about how much that will hurt him once the words have left my mouth. "It'll be worth it," I continue, trying to make him think about rebellion rather than death in the arena.

I can tell it doesn't work from the way he pulls me close, but he says nothing so neither do I. We reach the ground floor before I have time to think.

* * *

><p>Falco, Felix, Lace and Fortune are escorted away before we even leave the Training Centre, and though I wish Falco was still with me, I force myself to follow Gloss without protest through the side exit that has caused me so many problems before. He smiles and puts his arm across my shoulders but says nothing. I'm grateful for that. I have to do this. If I can't do this small thing then what good will I be to him tomorrow.<p>

When we finally emerge out into the area behind the stage I take a deep breath and make myself let go of Gloss' hand. Chin up, back straight, walk tall. That's what Ursala said and I'm determined not to let her down.

It looks like virtually everyone else is already here, gathered in groups just like they were before the Opening Ceremony and during training. Beetee catches my eye and I nod once to tell him I still mean to go through with it, that I'm still going to be part of tonight's planned show of defiance. He smiles almost imperceptibly, but then he immediately turns away at the same time as I sense someone else approaching and spin around to face them.

"Ready for the big show?" I ask Enobaria as I take in her long black dress in a way that I hope isn't obvious.

Its collar and neckline are as high as hers always are, but this dress is different. Its skirt has a split in it that almost reaches her hip, and more of her pale skin is exposed than I've ever seen her tolerate before. The murderous look on her face tells me just what she thinks of that, and when the fabric parts every time she moves, she pulls it so viciously back into place that I'm surprised it doesn't tear.

"The big show is tomorrow morning," she replies, her lips suddenly curling into a fierce smile. "Unless I see my stylist before then. If I do then they'll get their show early," she continues, scowling once more at her dress.

I don't know what to say to her. If she'd been anyone else then I'd have reassured her that she looks good, and in her case I wouldn't have had to lie, but it isn't modesty or lack of confidence making her feel uncomfortable. It's something else entirely, something else a lot more sinister from a long time ago in her past.

"Cross your left leg over your right when you're sitting on the stage," I tell her, my words coming out before I can stop them when I notice the split in her skirt is on the right and abruptly remember my grandmother saying the same thing to me when I was little more than a child.

"I thought I told you not to pity me," she snaps, but she inclines her head before she walks away and I receive no death threats. Like I once would have with Dahlia, with Enobaria, I call that progress.

* * *

><p>Soon after, the usual clipboard wielding officials begin to increase in numbers and the buzz of noise from the capacity crowd in the City Circle abruptly gets louder, as if they sense the moment they've been waiting for has almost arrived.<p>

Gloss returns to my side, moving away from the uniformed Capitolians rather than towards them, and I feel him tense as Finnick Odair walks past with Mags leaning heavily on his arm for support.

"They're late again," says my brother quietly, and I'd instinctively know he means District Twelve even if I hadn't already noticed they're the only Victor-tributes yet to arrive. "I'm sure they do it on purpose."

"Probably," I reply distractedly, no longer concentrating on him because at that moment the aforementioned District Twelve finally choose to make an appearance.

And Ursala was right. The rumours were true.

I'd like to be able to say that I feel such hatred towards Katniss Everdeen when I see her standing there in her wedding dress because she's a truly evil, wicked person who has done me a genuine grievous harm. But I can't. What I truly feel is overwhelming and uncontrollable jealousy. I know that now, despite how I can barely admit it even to myself.

I don't like the dress. Objectively I can see its beauty, but it's too fussy for me, too bulky and far too heavy looking. And when I see her there all I can do is imagine another world where I could wear a bride's white dress and say out loud the vows I've made to Falco a hundred times in the dark where nobody else could hear.

It's wrong of me to despise her. Part of me has always known that. It's a good thing that she had someone she could fight for who fought for her in return, and it's a good thing that she was one less person to fall victim to the Victor's Game. I can see that. But I'm not perfect, far from it, and right at this moment I hate Katniss Everdeen.

I hate her even though in reality she's in the same position as me because she's going to die too. I hate her because at least the world knows the boy who walks beside her as if they're on their way to slice their wedding cake is hers and she is his. That's assuming she actually loves him, which I'm still not entirely convinced of, but that's another story entirely.

She walks steadily closer and closer, and by the time Finnick Odair becomes the one to finally break the silence, I can hear every word they say even over the noise of the crowd and the increasingly impatient shouts of the officials. I link my hands together because it's the only way I can think of to hold myself back.

"I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing," says Finnick.

"He didn't have a choice," snaps Katniss immediately. "President Snow made him."

"Well, you look ridiculous," I growl, tossing my head back so my hair flies behind my shoulders before taking Gloss' hand and leading him away. If I don't go now then I won't be able to stop myself and I'll say something a whole lot worse.

"Calm down, Cash," whispers Gloss as the officials begin to supervise the formation of the tribute line in preparation for our grand entrance.

"I am calm," I hiss back, sounding anything but.

"Of course you are," he replies disbelievingly, trying and failing to hide his smile.

Then everyone backstage abruptly falls silent as the fanfare of trumpets that signifies the start of the ceremony begins.

"Three, two, one…go!" says the head official, gesturing in the direction of the stage steps without taking his eyes off me.

* * *

><p>Caesar bounds onto the stage with his usual irrepressible enthusiasm shortly after we're all seated, his hair and the features of his face a pale lavender colour this time. However not even he can hold the crowd's attention for long, and though they laugh at his jokes and cheer when they're supposed to, the low buzz of many hundreds of whispered conversations all happening at the same time never ceases.<p>

I rise slowly to my feet when my name is called, looking up into the stands until I find Falco and then staring at him so I don't have to gaze out into the audience. He smiles back at me, and I find myself thinking I'd feel a lot more reassured if that smile reached his eyes. Maybe my defiance will make him smile properly. It always did in the past.

"You look as beautiful as ever, Cashmere," says Caesar, gesturing to the chair opposite his golden throne.

I sit down and close my eyes, immediately letting my tears flow. I think of Gloss, of Falco, of my first arena and all of the innocent lives I took when I was there, deliberately plunging myself into despair and darkness in the hope it will make me convincing to the audience.

"Cashmere?" asks Caesar, leaning towards me and resting a snow white hand on my arm concernedly.

"I'm sorry, Caesar," I stammer, my voice shaking and struggling to break through my sobs. "I'm sorry but I just can't bear it. I can't stop thinking about how much you will all suffer when you lose us."

If they'd been impossible to silence before then the audience are the opposite now, and despite the vastness of the City Circle, the only sound I can hear is that of my own shuddering gasps for breath. The part of me that isn't overwhelmed by the situation hopes Snow is watching closely, because this is truly the acting performance of my life.

"The Victors are part of the Capitol now, and so many people here have come to love and care for us so much. And we love and care for so many of you in return," I continue, looking out at the people on the front row staring up at me with tears in their eyes and wondering how they can believe such a thing when I'd bet half of them have signed a contract with Snow without caring about our wishes in the slightest.

I continue my speech until the buzzer finally sounds, letting my eyes drift over to Gloss when I feel my false tears starting to dry up. Just the sight of him on the stage with me is enough to make me cry all over again. This time tomorrow we'll be in the arena. This time tomorrow I could be dead. And so could he, but that isn't something I can let myself think about. Not if I'm going to stay strong for him.

"Very impressive, sister mine," he says amusedly, leaning down to whisper into my ear when he hugs me tightly as we pass each other, pretending to be comforting me and making the crowd sigh wistfully.

If the reaction of those watching proves that I was convincing then my brother is even more so, which is truly astonishing when I consider what he's been through and what he chooses to talk about. He sits down opposite Caesar, casually leaning back on the chair like he's in his own home rather than on a stage in front of the whole country, and then proceeds to thank everyone for the kindness they've all shown to us, of how welcome he's always felt here and how he's so sorry that it's all got to come to an end.

I don't know how he does it, and when the buzzer sounds, the cheer he gets is almost deafening. I don't know whether to be sad, angry or proud. I suppose I end up feeling a mixture of all three. All I do know is that it hurts so much to watch him pretending to be grateful and appreciative to the people who have literally taken everything from him.

He bows gracefully and returns to his seat, quickly taking my hand and not letting go. Then we sit together and watch as many more of the Victors play their part in the plan that was originally Narissa's.

She's there, of course, sitting on the front row with a smug smile on her far-too-beautiful face as she witnesses her idea as it's brought to life so perfectly. There's another woman by her side, and I recognise her instantly as the woman who gave the reporters false information to make them leave Falco and me alone when we returned to the Training Centre last night. Though she's slightly younger and blonde rather than dark, the look of superiority she gives those around her is virtually identical. The way Gloss looks at her tells me this certainly isn't the first time he's seen her.

"Another friend?" I whisper, knowing nobody but my brother will hear me over the noise of the still-cheering audience.

"She's 'Rissa's friend," he replies, looking at the blonde woman rather than at me. "They work together."

"Whatever you say," I say, smirking slightly when I don't detect any animosity towards either woman from him.

He glares at me and nods in the direction of centre stage as the crowd falls silent. I roll my eyes and he squeezes my hand a little bit too hard. I say no more.

Beetee remains quiet and introverted, but he is one of those people that virtually everyone both likes and respects, and unusually that seems to extend to the Capitolians as well. They hang onto his every tremulous word as he questions the legality of the Quell, and the rest of us on the stage do the same.

After what Falco told me, it's no surprise when Finnick Odair joins in, reading a love poem that makes the audience swoon and the cries for the rules to be changed get even louder. It's true that I will always despise him, but at that moment I respect him too. I respect him for having the sense to use the main weapon he has when others would have shied away out of fear or shame. But that doesn't mean I like him or forgive him. Never that. That would be taking it too far.

I can tell from the expression on her face that Mags would join in this subtle Victor's rebellion if she could, and I smile at her when she returns to her place in the semi-circle. She just shakes her head sharply, her anger all for the body that's failing a mind which is clearly as sharp as it ever was. She wanted to speak out and she's furious that she physically couldn't do it.

"How many more?" whispers Gloss, as confident that nobody else but me will hear his words over the noise of the increasingly emotional crowd as I was.

I shrug my shoulders because I genuinely have no idea, and as it turns out we have to wait for Johanna Mason to take to the stage before the Capitol heartstrings are jerked to breaking point once again. As she pleads for someone to do something to stop the Quell, I look properly at her for the first time. More than anything I'm surprised by how young she looks, despite how she obviously knows she can't hide behind a charade of vulnerability like she did before. She's vulgar, uncouth and altogether too fond of public nakedness for my liking, but she's playing her part and she's playing it well. I can't deny that.

Then District Eleven continue where Johanna left off a short time later, and the audience are in pieces by the time the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight finally joins Caesar.

She stands there in that over-the-top wedding gown with a single spotlight focussed solely on her as we are all plunged into darkness, and the already overly fraught audience go wild yet again. Caesar tries to get them to quieten down enough for Katniss to speak but even he is unsuccessful, even when the other stage lights return. Her three minutes are ticking away and she hasn't said a single word yet. But maybe she doesn't have to. Maybe simply being there in that dress and bathing in the crowd's reaction is enough to make a point, because I'm sure that reaction isn't the one predicted by the man who made her wear it.

"So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?" asks Caesar when he's finally able to make himself heard.

"Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding…" she stammers, her voice shaking with every word. "…but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just…the most beautiful thing?"

Then everyone falls silent as she rises to her feet and begins to spin around, raising her arms above her head so the sleeves of the dress spin around with her.

"She's done this twirling thing before," whispers Gloss. "I don't understand."

"It's too much to hope that that's an accident that isn't supposed to happen, isn't it?" says Enobaria dryly before I can reply, and when I turn back to Katniss I can see smoke starting to rise from the dress.

"The Girl On Fire on fire," says Gloss, his equally dry tone making the woman from District Two smirk in response.

The smoke quickly gets thicker and thicker, engulfing Katniss and making her vanish from both our sight and that of the stunned audience. I expect her to be left standing naked on the stage when it abruptly clears, but what I see instead is a black version of her wedding dress, made of what looks like feathers. Black feathers with white patches on the flowing, wing-like sleeves.

"Mockingjay," I breathe, not knowing I'd spoken aloud until Gloss turns to look at me.

His look is questioning but I don't reply and I quickly return my attention to the girl from the coal district, the unknowing symbol of the new rebellion. Not for the first time, I wonder if she has any idea what is being planned around her, if she has any clue about how the image of her in that dress will be seen outside the Capitol.

Her stylist rises to his feet and gives everyone a small bow when requested, and seeing him like that suddenly reminds me that he is the one who designed that dress. I scan down the line of stylists until I reach Felix, and the anxious look on his face tells me all I need to know. He's worried, and I'm not sure all that worry is on Cinna's behalf.

Before I know it, the buzzer is sounding and the crowd start up again, even louder than ever. I look at Gloss, unsure of what to think. What have I just witnessed? The beginning of the rebellion or the end? While that is something I can't answer, I can say for sure that the potential impact of this night hasn't gone unnoticed. When I look up at the stands, at the Gamemakers and the government officials, not a single one looks the slightest bit happy.

And then Peeta takes to the stage and adds to the chaos of emotions by announcing that he and Katniss are already married and that she is going into the arena carrying his child.

Chaos breaks out across the City Circle instantly.

* * *

><p>The audience shriek and wail with an anguish that as far as I am concerned is at least partly self-inflicted, whereas it seems that nobody on the stage with me so much as breathes. People cry out in outrage, screaming that the Quell should be stopped and pleading for change. However it only takes one look up at President Snow to know that change is never going to be made. He's enjoying this, watching the whole show like a ringmaster overseeing his circus.<p>

I vaguely hear the buzzer that signals the end of Peeta's three minutes, but he has to make his way back to his seat without his applause and cheers because the audience don't even notice. They keep shouting and crying, and not even Caesar can regain their attention. When the anthem booms out across the City Circle at what sounds like three times its normal volume, I know that those who matter have decided the show is over.

I slowly stand, my hand still gripping Gloss' so tightly that I begin to doubt I'll ever be able to make myself let go, not even to wipe the tears that are streaming freely down my face. I look up at the big screen opposite me because I can't bear to look at the mass of people who surround the stage, and that's when I notice Katniss reaching her hand out to Chaff.

The man from District Eleven lets her close her fingers around the stump where his hand should be, and soon a lot of the others begin to link hands as well. Some do it slowly and deliberately in yet another show of defiance, and others like the morphling addicts from Six simply do it because they're asked to. Then there are those who think they're going to stay out of it, but pretty soon even they are caught up in the moment.

I see Gloss nod fiercely to Enobaria, the hand that isn't clamped around mine extended firmly towards her. She glares at him but he doesn't back down, and in the end even she gives in, reluctantly putting her small hand in his and turning back to face the audience. I do the same, giving them a fierce smile as my mind fills with thoughts of rebellion.

* * *

><p>Once the officials realise what they're seeing and all of the potential implications it could have, they start to end the show immediately, passing messages through the camera crews in a way that reminds me of that whispering game that children play.<p>

Just like in that game, the further along the line it goes, the more the message gets distorted. By the time it reaches the crew standing by my side of the stage, they simply look confusedly around at each other and everyone else, their cameras still rolling.

The light they provide allows me to see a furious looking Prisca, who remains one of the president's closest advisors, as she draws her hand sharply across her throat. The man in charge of the main camera soon gets the message and we're suddenly plunged into almost-darkness.

"Gloss, come on," I call, not letting his hand go as I stumble down the steps in my rush to get off the stage. "We have to go."

The Peacekeepers move in quickly then, dispersing the chaotic, surging crowd as best they can. I try to search for Falco and Felix but it's dark and there are people everywhere. I can't see them anywhere, and when Gloss tugs me into one of the lifts once we finally get back inside the Training Centre, I follow him without protest and press the button for Level One straight away.

Enobaria slips inside just as the doors are sliding closed, looking completely unruffled, as if this is something that happens to her every day. Or maybe she simply doesn't care what happens to her. Either way she doesn't say a word, and for some crazy reason suddenly all I can think is how lucky I am.

Horrible though it is, I'd rather be in my situation than hers. I'd rather feel everything I feel than feel nothing but a rage that won't ever fade. Although having said that, when I look at Gloss and think of Falco I can't help thinking I may change my mind about that when the time comes to say goodbye in the morning.

We arrive at Level One a few seconds later and still the woman from District Two doesn't speak. However she narrows her eyes at me until I nod back in return. Allies, she said, and it seems the deal we made still stands. For now anyway.

Then I temporarily forget all about Enobaria when I open the main door and find Falco there waiting for us.

"You got here quickly," I say, not missing how he moves close and takes me in his arms, almost like he thinks they'll take me away early if he lets me go.

"It's madness down there. Total anarchy and they don't know what to do about it. 'Rissa must think she's died and gone to paradise," he adds, momentarily sounding amused. However I'm not surprised it doesn't last when he continues. "They're sending everyone home. The prep teams and stylists, all of the escorts-"

"But… You can't… Falco don't go," I plead, not caring how desperate I sound.

"I came up here before the officials regained control. Perhaps they'll think I left already. And if they don't then… well, I'm not leaving you so they'll have to kill me."

"Don't say things like that," I reply, twisting my hand into his shirt so we don't lose contact as I move into the dining room and peer through the gap in the curtain at the City Circle below.

He follows me closely so I don't have to let him go and Gloss does the same. My brother pulls the curtain aside so we can all see.

If our names hadn't been drawn from the reaping ball then I know I'd be finding it difficult not to laugh at this. There are Capitolians everywhere, people who were in the audience who are sparkling with jewels and losing feathers off their headdresses as they either attempt to flee the chaos or get a better look.

The Peacekeepers are moving towards them now though, probably because all of the Victor-tributes and their support teams have been cleared off the stage. I can see Prisca and her cronies issuing orders, and many of them are having frantic conversations on their phones at the same time.

"Come away from there now," says Falco, glaring down at Prisca before walking back to the middle of the room, taking me with him because I don't want to let him go. I grasp Gloss' hand to bring him with me.

"They were all down there," he says, still looking at the window. "Phoebe and the others. Narissa."

"'Rissa can look after herself," replies Falco with a slightly grim smile. "So can Phoebe. Tonight was about the Quell. It wasn't about rebellion."

"Aren't they part of the same thing?" I ask, watching my brother's expression change from confusion to realisation and then back to confusion again.

Instinct automatically tells me not to talk about these things in front of him, but I carry on anyway. When this is over, he'll need to know.

"Yes and no," answers Falco. "Phoebe's been speaking out against the Quell and so has 'Rissa, but not in a way that could be…misinterpreted."

"Don't be so naïve, Falco. You know better than that. I've seen the interviews they've all been giving and it's all about how devastating it is for everyone to lose us and how awful it will be, but they're still speaking out against the president and you're being a fool if you can't see that's all it takes now."

Falco stares back at me, shaking his head slowly. "I was hoping you wouldn't work that out."

"I think you know me better than that," I reply, trying to sound light and teasing. It doesn't work even when I persist. "I know everything, remember."

He smiles sadly. I've never seen him look this helpless, not even when the president first told us I'll be a tribute in the Quell.

"Do you want me to-" he starts, looking from me to Gloss and then at the door.

"No," I reply instantly, cutting him off because I know he's going to ask if I want him to go.

I take both his hand and Gloss' and pull them over to the sofa, flopping back onto it and dragging them with me. Gloss rests his head on my shoulder and Falco links his arm with mine, squeezing my hand so tightly that I start to think he'll cut off my circulation.

"Do you want to go to bed?" he asks eventually. "It's late."

I shake my head when he's barely finished speaking. I don't want to let him go and I don't want to let Gloss go either. And I don't want to waste my last few hours by sleeping.

I close my eyes for a second anyway, and I can hear nothing but the soft sounds of our breathing. If the commotion out in the City Circle is still going on then the noise is obviously blocked by the glass in the windows.

"Could you get out?" whispers Gloss into the near darkness, and though I can't see his face, I know he's talking to Falco. "Out of the Training Centre and away, I mean."

I sit up, looking at him anxiously and then wildly scanning a room I can barely see, half expecting someone to jump out to arrest us. He spoke very quietly and with his hand over his mouth but it might not have been enough.

"Don't be stupid, Gloss," I hiss back. "Think of our victory," I continue, hoping I'll sound like a Career Tribute desperate for glory despite how I'm thinking of a very different Victory.

"I've thought about it every day for the past three months," says Falco, showing as much disregard for hidden cameras and bugs as Gloss did. I hope that's because he knows there aren't any, but I don't see how he can at a time like this, not when security has never been so great. "But it'd be a massive risk. And Cashmere's right. You know what the consequences would be."

"Which is why I'd never try," I say, thinking of Satin and Victory back home.

"I know," replies Falco. "If it wasn't for them then you and I would both be either dead or a long way from here by now."

I don't know what to say to that and apparently nobody else does either, because we sit there in silence for hours. I don't sleep at all, and instead try to think about happier times and good memories. But however hard I try, my mind always drifts back to the arena. What will it be like? How will I die? Will I be able to keep Gloss alive?

The worst moments are when the voice in my head considers that the answer to that last question might be no.

* * *

><p>"It's almost dawn," I whisper reluctantly when I can't remain in denial for any longer.<p>

I only realise I'm trembling when I hear how much my voice is shaking. Then there's a knock at the door and Gloss visibly jumps. So do I.

"Can we come in?" calls Felix. "I'm so sorry but it's nearly time."

"Wait one minute," replies Gloss, squeezing my hand before letting go and standing up.

"Gloss?"

He stops and looks down at me, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear on one side. "If I go first then you'll have a few minutes. I'll see you there. Watch your back and keep fighting. Don't stop and don't think."

"Same to you, little brother," I reply, my voice catching because of the lump that's suddenly appeared in my throat. "And remember your promise. What is it?"

"To not go after Odair at least until the first battle's over," he repeats dutifully, and all I can do is nod and desperately hope he means it.

He kisses the top of my head, shakes Falco's hand and then he's gone. I hear him telling Lucretia that he's ready to go and then asking Felix to give me a minute. I turn to look at Falco and I'm wiping silent tears from my cheeks before I even realise I'm crying.

"I'll get you out of there," he says, cupping my face with his hands and brushing my tears away with his thumbs. "Whatever it takes. I swear it."

"No, Falco," I stammer, leaning into his touch before forcing myself to pull away. "If you love me then you'll choose Gloss. Gloss must live."

"It's because I love you that I'll always choose you. If you want to hate me forever then I don't care. It doesn't matter as long as you live."

"I've made my choice. Gloss lives. And without me to worry about, you can live too. Do whatever Snow asks of you and live."

"I'm not a good person, Butterfly," he says, resting his forefinger against my lips when I open my mouth to contradict him. "I've said and done a lot of selfish and questionable things. The only truly good thing about me is you. You're all I have that's worth fighting for. But whatever happens, I'll never be that man's puppet again."

"I'd say you'll make me cry if you keep talking like that but it's too late," I reply, attempting a smile because I know we haven't got much time left. "If you ever see the day he falls then promise me you'll give him a kick from me."

"You can kick him yourself," he says stubbornly.

"I'm sorry," comes Felix's voice from the other side of the door.

"I have to go," I say, but it's only when Falco stands that I find the strength to do the same. "I love you. I'll always love you."

"I love you," he echoes as I walk away, holding onto his hand until my fingers slip from his.

I only just reach the door before he pulls me back, lifting me up so I instinctively put my legs around his waist as he presses me back against the wall. Then for a few short minutes there is no arena and no Games, there is only him. I allow myself to get lost in him because when I do my pain fades and my tears stop falling for what feels like the first time in hours.

* * *

><p>He puts me down far too soon, rearranging the skirt of the golden dress I never changed out of as I stumble into him because my legs are trembling too much to take my weight.<p>

"I'm sorry," he whispers, holding me tightly so I don't fall. "I shouldn't have… I just…"

"I'm not sorry," I reply fiercely. "Not for that and not for any of it."

I jerk the door open before I lose my nerve and kiss him one more time before walking over to Felix, who is looking at the floor and doesn't once meet my eyes. As I follow my stylist to the lift I can sense Falco watching me the whole way.

The doors are already open when I get there, as if the lift is waiting just for me. It probably is. I take a deep breath as I step inside, wiping my eyes again before turning around. I don't want Falco's last memory of me to involve floods of tears.

"I'll never be sorry!" I shout as the doors slide shut.

I see him begin to reply but we're cut off from each other before I can hear what he says. I wish I could but I know I can't go back. I can never go back.

* * *

><p>"Go and have a shower," says Felix, finally speaking after several minutes of standing in the hot and humid Launch Room in total silence. "You've still got your makeup on from last night."<p>

I stare blankly at him before nodding mechanically and trying to ignore the mass of thoughts that flood my mind as I head towards the small bathroom. I want to tell him that I don't want to shower, that I can still feel Falco's skin against mine and that I still feel like he's part of me and that if I'm going to die then I want to die that way.

But I don't tell him any of that. Instead I numbly do as I'm told and put on the plain but soft underclothes left out for me before returning to the main room.

"Sit down," he says. "Have something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," I say, unable to take even a single step because I suddenly feel like my body has shut down.

"You can't help being frightened, Cashmere. I'm frightened and I'm not…I'm not going where you're going."

"I'm not scared," I snap, not even fooling myself despite the force behind my words. "I don't get scared. Chin up, back straight, walk tall. That's all I have to remember."

Felix says nothing but I can see the disbelief in his eyes. He doesn't believe me either, and I'm not surprised. He knows me too well.

"Put this on," he says, walking towards me carrying a small bundle of blue fabric. "So you're ready."

I take it from him and unfold what looks like a jumpsuit. It's made of a thin material that certainly doesn't look like it will keep me warm, making me unsure whether to be relieved that it's unlikely the arena will be like Gloss' first one or fearful that it might be like mine.

"It's hideous," I tell him, trying to turn it into a joke even though neither of us are laughing. "Are you seriously going to send me out in front of the whole country wearing this?"

"You'd look good in anything," he replies, his expression making it clear that he doesn't have the strength to attempt a humorous retort as he helps me put it on.

The jumpsuit clings to every curve of my body, especially when he fastens a thick purple belt around my waist, and I abruptly feel very uncomfortable. Long gone is the Cashmere who was proud of her figure and didn't mind showing it off. From the moment I saw the Capitolians looking at me like an object they could buy and sell for their pleasure and amusement, I have never been happier than when I've been at home and wearing one of the many shirts I've borrowed on a permanent basis from Falco, or something equally as big on me that conceals as much of my body as possible.

But then I remember why I'm here and tell myself to stop being ridiculous. Most tributes need sponsors to win the Hunger Games, and I'm here to make sure Gloss wins. I sigh deeply and pull the belt a hole tighter before unzipping the front of my jumpsuit so its far lower than I'd want it to be. I don't care who sponsors us as long as my brother survives.

Then I sit down on the sofa by Felix's side and we don't talk anymore. I have nothing left to say, no energy remaining to attempt to tell him what I'm thinking when I can't really understand my thoughts myself. His presence and the warmth of his arm across my shoulders is all I allow myself to concentrate on as I try not to count the minutes that are passing by far too quickly.

The same voice I heard this time nine years ago announces that it's time to prepare for launch a short time later, and the sound of it is enough to make me stop breathing. I jump to my feet and fly backwards until my suddenly sweat-soaked back is flat to the already damp wall, and it's only when Felix stands in front of me, grasping both of my hands firmly in his, that I finally begin to regain control.

"Hearing it made me remember," I gasp, hating the panic-stricken terror in my voice but at the same time feeling at a loss to know how to fight it. "I don't want to go back in there, Felix. Please… Please, Felix. I don't want to go. I don't want to do this. I don't want to die."

He pulls me into a tight hug and doesn't let me go even slightly until my breathing slows and I begin to calm down.

"You have to be strong, Cashmere," he says, the sadness written all over his face telling me that he knows that's all he can say, that he's as totally powerless to stop it as I am. "For Gloss, and for all of us who love you and wish more than anything that you could come back to us. Can you do that for me?"

Eventually I nod and allow him to lead me over to the metal launch plate. We continue to hold hands until I hear the whirring of the ceiling mechanism as the glass cylinder begins to lower down over me. It gets lower and lower but he doesn't let go until he has no choice.

"Promise me you'll look after him!" I shout, my desperate fingers scraping against the glass as it falls further and further down. "Promise me!"

The last image I have before the metal plate begins to rise is of Felix looking up at me. We're cut off from each other totally and so I can't hear him, but my eyes don't leave his face and I clearly see him mouth 'I promise' as he vanishes from sight.

That image is the only thing that gives me the strength to stand upright on my podium as a ceaseless wave of heat suddenly hits me and I have no choice but to close my eyes in response to the blindingly bright light that accompanies it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>This one was difficult but I finally got there... The single solitary line Cashmere has in canon... The line that inspired the whole (massive) trilogy... <strong>_

_**I'd love to hear from you, especially with the arena starting next week...**_


	27. Chapter 27

_I don't really know what to say this week so I'll just let you read the chapter... The first half of the arena... _

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

I cry out in shock when my metal plate finally clicks into place and Claudius Templesmith's voice booms out around the arena. I should have been expecting it but for some reason it still comes as a surprise, and the memories I have of my many years of training are all that keep me upright and still.

Whatever their district, that's one of the first things any child training for the Hunger Games has drilled into them: if you remember nothing else then remember not to move off your podium until the gong sounds. Otherwise the Capitolian tourists will still be scraping bits of you off the arena floor for souvenirs on the fiftieth anniversary of your death. Or that's how my first trainer delicately phrased it anyway, and I imagine that wouldn't be considered blunt when compared to what the tributes of District Two hear.

My stomach is churning and my heart is racing so fast I almost expect it to burst from my chest. I force myself to take a deep breath but no matter how hard I try, I can't make myself open my eyes. I can't, not when the heat still beating down on me from all angles reminds me so much of There.

Even the sensation of my jumpsuit sticking to the damp skin of my back makes me think of that nightmarish place I've never managed to forget, and the more I think about it the more it makes sense. What better way for the man intent on destroying me to inflict one final torture than returning me to my old arena?

But then as the countdown to the beginning of the Games continues ever onwards, my thoughts turn to Gloss once more. I shudder to think he's in here with me, probably trembling on his metal plate just like I am. I hope he holds it together, just for long enough for me to find him. If he has another breakdown like he did in the Control Room after Glimmer's death then it's all over.

Then I realise that ultimately it doesn't matter what the arena looks like or what I have to face. The only thing that matters is that I get Gloss out alive. And I can't do that by standing here like a frightened child and refusing to open my eyes. I have to remember what I have to do here. I have to remember what Ursala told me and what I want Satin to see as she watches back home.

With that final thought in mind, I force myself to open my eyes.

* * *

><p>The first thing I see is the sun. I'm outside, underneath a bright blue sky that could almost be the one I see back home at the height of the summer. I'm not back in the warehouse that's haunted my nightmares for nearly ten years, and for a brief second I feel nothing but relief.<p>

But that soon changes when I desperately scan my surroundings in search of my brother. He's not there. No matter how hard I search I can't find him, and my heart begins to race again, initially because I don't know where Gloss is, but then because of something else as well. I can't see Gloss, but I can see water. Lots of water. It's totally surrounding me. And I can't swim.

I look to the side and immediately see a thin stretch of what looks like sand. It's only about twenty metres away, but right now it feels like it might as well be twenty miles. But on my other side, in front of me and behind, there is simply more water. And another Victor-tribute who I barely recognise in my panic, marooned in the middle of the water just like I am. I hope I don't look as terrified as she does. If I do then I'll never have any sponsors.

The starting gong sounds, echoing around the arena over and over again until I think it will never stop. I scan the tributes once more, searching for Gloss even though I know I'll never find him unless I leave this platform. If I can. I don't see how I'll be able to when I can barely stay afloat in water and certainly can't swim.

However as soon as I look at the others, it quickly becomes apparent that I'm not the only one struggling. Perhaps for the first time in the history of the Hunger Games, the starting gong has sounded but there is nobody moving.

But then I think that maybe all this is too convenient to be a coincidence as well. Most of the Victor-tributes will have even less swimming ability than me. Only Finnick Odair will benefit from this start to the Games, and chances are that it was planned that way all along. Who better to emerge victorious from this horrific mess than the Capitol's favourite plaything? It all makes sense. Too much sense for it to be luck and nothing more.

* * *

><p>When I was a child, there were a handful of occasions where Gloss, Sapphire and I escaped the clutches of our minders for long enough to go down to the river. We'd always been told never to go there, that it was far too dangerous. But even at the time we decided it wasn't so much that it was dangerous but more that it was where the children of the men and women employed in the workshops used to gather. By the time we were old enough to think for ourselves, we'd already worked out that our parents would sooner see us dead than associating with the unwashed masses.<p>

However naturally, because we'd been told not to go there, curiosity got the better of us and we went anyway. It wasn't enough time to learn to swim properly, but it was enough time to learn not to drown, and it's that memory I think of as I edge towards the water and dip a nylon-shoe-covered toe into it.

I immediately jump back, half expecting some kind of sea monster to jump out at me when I'm unarmed and too precariously positioned to defend myself properly, but nothing happens. I look around and the other tributes within my line of sight are still gazing around with expressions ranging from uncertainty to full on terror.

"Nothing's going to happen, Cash," I whisper to myself out loud, shaking my head in an attempt to clear it.

There are no advantages to anyone, least of all the audience back in the Capitol, if half the tributes are eaten by creatures before they even reach dry land. And it takes the fun away for them if we don't kill each other ourselves anyway.

But why put us out here in the water in the first place? The Gamemakers know as well as I do that most of us can't swim, so what's the point? Where's the drama? Because surely this set up will put an end to the full on battle everyone associates with the initial hours in the arena.

Then the sound of metal clashing against metal coming from somewhere ahead of me pierces my thoughts and brings me crashing back to reality. Gloss. I have to get to Gloss. I have to find him because I have to protect him, and that means I have to move.

I sit down on the edge of my metal plate and push myself tentatively forwards into the water. My head goes under immediately and everything suddenly goes dark. I kick as hard as I can, and I'm gasping for breath when my head finally breaks the surface.

It takes several seconds before I'm able to concentrate on anything other than trying not to swallow too much water every time I go back under, but my resolve doesn't entirely desert me and I make myself focus. I kick and kick, just like the workshop woman's daughter told me to all those years ago, and to my surprise it works.

Once I manage to coordinate my movements a little, I rise to the surface and stay there, and the whole thing seems a lot easier than I dared expect. I don't know why but I don't question it, and instead I push off the podium and head in the direction of the strip of sand.

* * *

><p>By the time I finally reach my destination I'm struggling to think of anything but the pain and remembering how to breathe. My arms and legs are protesting so severely that it's an effort just to drag myself out of the water.<p>

When I eventually succeed, I flop down onto the beach, momentarily exhausted, but when I look back at the other tributes I see that they're still there. Trapped out in the middle of the water and waiting to see what happens next.

I have to find Gloss, I tell myself over and over again, repeating the words in my head like a mantra because it's the only thing I can think of to keep myself going. And I have to find a weapon soon. Before I meet Finnick Odair, because there's no way he'll be hesitating on his metal plate.

With that thought filling my mind I drag myself to my feet and stumble along the pathway towards the Cornucopia. Every step is an effort, my flimsy nylon shoes sinking into the sand as it drags me down, but I make myself carry on, the thought of Gloss and what might be happening to him preventing me from giving up.

In reality it probably takes me much less than a minute to get to the back of the golden horn, but despite that it feels like hours. The metal shines as it reflects the sun, and I have to stifle a cry when I lean against it. I should have known it would be red-hot, but for some reason I can't make myself think straight.

My first instinct is to call out for Gloss but I know I can't, not until I know what's happening and where everyone else is. However as I stand there, I am disgusted to realise that the knot I feel in my stomach is caused by fear, by a reluctance to move in case I draw attention to myself. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. The others are supposed to be hiding from me. I am the so-called Career Tribute and they are the unfortunates who were reaped. But not this year. This year we're all Victors and I can't fight as well as I could before.

"You have to do this, Cashmere," I tell myself firmly, not caring how stupid I must sound to the people watching back in the Capitol. "You have to move."

I peer tentatively around the side of the Cornucopia and the first thing I see is a dead man lying on the floor. It's the man from District Five. I recognise him even though I can't remember his name because he was drunk at training. He collapsed after being sick in the middle of the sword-fighting floor because of the sheer volume of alcohol he'd had to consume to block out the knowledge that he'd have to re-enter the arena. And now he's dead. Just like that. Dead in a matter of minutes.

"And if you don't move then the next one you see might be Gloss," I tell myself, and when I hear the sound of metal clashing with metal again, I dive for the pile of weapons at the entrance to the golden horn, more than half expecting Finnick Odair.

However I close my hand around the hilt of the nearest sword just as Enobaria's voice cuts through the hot and far-too-humid air. I don't know whether to be relieved or not. I still don't know which way she'll turn.

"Just look at her running for Lover Boy," she growls viciously. "I think it'll be better for us if we go and see that he never makes it off that podium."

I step out into the open and follow the direction of her gaze to see Katniss Everdeen and Finnick Odair racing down the beach away from us in the direction of Peeta Mellark. He's still standing on his metal plate, totally stranded, and for a brief second I'm tempted to agree with Enobaria. If we can kill even one of the pair from District Twelve then there will be no more star-crossed lovers for the Capitolian audience to obsess over, and that's got to improve Gloss' chances.

But then I hear a movement a lot closer to me, and I forget all about the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight when I see Gloss limping towards me, sword in hand but with a golden arrow embedded in his calf.

"She simply couldn't resist proving how good she is at shooting," he says wryly, just managing to get his words out before I throw myself into his arms.

"It's just as well she's not even better, isn't it?" I reply, half teasing and half deadly serious as I crouch down on the sand at his feet to look at his wound when he finally lets me go.

I shuddered at the sight of the arrow when I first saw it and looking at it more closely certainly doesn't help. I wish I was better at things like this, I wish I could deal with it properly. However I don't have time to worry about it for long no matter how bad it looks because the Gamemakers aren't going to let the others stay out of the game for long. We have to fight, there's no other option.

Enobaria pushes me roughly out of the way before I can react. I don't even have chance to raise my sword before she's backing away from Gloss with the arrow shaft she's just snapped off in her hand. I force myself to look down, and I find the arrowhead still where it was before. She hasn't solved the problem but at least he's got more chance of being able to fight. And when I think about it, that's all that really matters right now.

"There's no time for messing about now," she snaps, seeming to read my mind as she throws the arrow contemptuously to the ground. "Get what weapons you want. We have to start doing what we're here to do."

"And what's that?" I reply, speaking both to buy Gloss a few seconds to recover and because I'm genuinely curious to see how she responds.

"Kill," she replies flatly, her eyes suddenly as I remember them from watching her first Games, somehow simultaneously blank and full of unimaginable rage at the same time. "What else?"

Instead of waiting for my reaction, she turns her back on me and heads straight for the pile of weapons. I scan the rest of the area around the Cornucopia, initially looking for food but then finding my eyes drawn further away to the circle of trees that surround us. They don't seem anything like the trees I'm used to seeing back home, but then nothing about this place is like home. I shudder and turn back to Gloss.

"I tried but she was a coward. She ran away," he says, and I immediately think he means Everdeen. However he shakes his head and continues. "No, not _her_. I meant Mason. Beetee was stupid enough to come up here and she was defending him."

"Why?" I answer, struggling to process what I'm hearing.

"How should I know?" he replies, his head rapidly turning back and forth as he tries to look at all of the other tributes at once.

"And Beetee?"

"District Two was throwing knives. She got him but not properly. He's not dead. Not yet."

My heart abruptly sinks as I remember the quiet, respectable and somehow likeable man who had gone out of his way to speak to me after training, who I have spoken to only a handful of times over the years but have never heard an unkind word from. I know he can't live, but that doesn't stop me from wanting him to.

"Come on, Cash," Gloss urges, taking my hand briefly so he can drag me in the direction of the weapons.

I smile for him but then let my expression flatten as I focus on Brutus and Enobaria, who seem to be searching for something perfect for them amongst the mass of metal. I don't know why they bother when he's capable of killing most people with his bare hands and she could probably convince someone to kill themselves out of fear with just one look.

"There's no food," I say, taking a couple of knives and pushing them into the belt of my jumpsuit without lowering my sword. "And there's no fresh water either. We can't drink this," I continue, gesturing to the salty sea that surrounds us.

"Then we have to move," says Gloss. "Go somewhere else."

"And let the others get here and arm themselves without so much as a challenge?" retorts Brutus, who looks to be about a second from turning on us purely because there's nobody else for him to try and kill. "I don't think so."

"Then we wait until the first battle's over and go after," I reply, taking a step closer to Gloss and tightening my grip on the hilt of my sword just in case. "Or we throw the weapons we don't want into the sea. Whatever you want."

"We'll wait," he says, looking me up and down appraisingly and apparently deciding not to risk it.

I shrug my shoulders and Gloss nods, passing a dagger to me before reaching for a knife for himself. Enobaria eventually emerges from the golden horn, declaring that there's nothing in there either. Though my initial response is not to trust her, I soon realise she wouldn't think she needs to lie. She's totally convinced she could take us all out in a matter of moments, and in a fair fight she probably wouldn't be wrong, so she doesn't even see us as a threat.

"So the food must be in there then," I suggest, gesturing at what I suppose should be called a jungle.

It's then that I see Katniss and Finnick, who have now been joined by Peeta and a small figure who can only be Mags. They're heading away from us towards the trees, and part of me wants to attack them before they can disappear, to get it over with and get a step closer to sending Gloss home. But the rest of me says that now isn't the time. Katniss has her bow and arrows and I've seen enough to know she can use them. She'll shoot us all dead before we even get close. So what we need is the element of surprise. And Enobaria's throwing arm. It's that thought that makes me suddenly glad I chose the alliance.

* * *

><p>"You have to get that out and bandage it or it'll go septic," says Enobaria, addressing me rather than my brother as she moves to stand only a short distance from us, looking down at the fragment of metal that remains embedded in Gloss' calf.<p>

"I…" I stammer, not sure I can bring myself to do it in case I do the wrong thing and make it worse.

"For Panem's sake," she growls, pulling a knife from her sleeve with the flick of her wrist.

I draw my sword instantly, as soon as I see her move, but yet again I'm simply not quick enough for her. She cuts the remains of the arrow from Gloss' leg before either of us can really think to stop her, and to his credit my brother doesn't make a sound. All I can think is that if her intentions had been different then he'd be dead by now and so would I.

"I'm going hunting," she says, gesturing around at the struggling tributes. "If you're not up and joining me by the time I start to get bored then you can join the likes of him instead," she continues, sending the knife flying into the chest of the man from District Nine who thought to steal a weapon while we were distracted. He crumples to the floor virtually instantly but she barely spares him a glance.

"So," says Gloss as soon as she's out of earshot, clearly as shocked by how easily she kills as I am despite the slight tone of amusement I can hear. I know him more than well enough to know it's fake. "How long do you think it'll take her to get bored?"

"It isn't funny, Gloss," I reply admonishingly, trying to stop myself from shuddering when I look down at his leg.

Then the arena is suddenly full of screams, and I jump to my feet, leaving Gloss behind me as I edge around the side of the Cornucopia. Enobaria stands a short distance away, with a now still and silent figure lying on the sand at her feet. I instinctively look in a different direction because I don't want to know the identity of the latest Victor to meet their end in this monstrous Quell, but then I make myself turn back. Whoever it is, the least they deserve is my attention for a split second.

However I immediately wish I'd thought differently. It's Cecelia from District Eight, and suddenly all I can think about is the memory I have of the three children who were forcibly removed from her arms so the Peacekeepers could escort her to the stage on reaping day. They're probably all watching now, struggling to comprehend that their mother isn't coming home.

I hate this. I don't want to fight. I don't want to kill. All I want is to go home, to collapse into Falco's arms and never let go.

But I can't, because Gloss is here with me and I have to get him out so that means I have no choice. Fight or Gloss dies, so there's just one thing I can do. Only it isn't that simple. I learn that when the man from District Six staggers along the beach towards me, so disorientated and addled by morphling that he thinks I'm his own district partner. I try to mentally talk myself into it but I still can't bear to drive my sword through his heart to finish him.

I slash my blade across his chest like I did with Octavian nine years ago, wounding him enough to send him reeling backwards but not cutting deep enough to kill. I should end it, I know I should, because it's crueller like this and he has to die anyway, but he loses his balance and falls into the water, crying like a child, and I can't do it.

I can picture the Capitolian audience screaming at me through their television screens, asking each other what's happened to make me hold back, and for some reason that makes me even more determined not to give them what they want.

Then I hear weapons clashing again, only this time the sound is coming from behind me, from where Gloss was. Abruptly the man from District Six is an insignificant and distant memory.

I hurry back the way I came, sword raised and all thoughts of holding back long forgotten when my brother's life could be at risk. I find Gloss and Chaff fighting furiously, the latter proving that though he might have lost a hand in his first Games, there's nothing wrong with the one he has left. He swings wildly with the huge sword he wields, a complete contrast to Gloss' almost elegant control, and the look in his black eyes is the only thing there to reassure me that he doesn't feel like he's close to winning.

However I soon forget about that when I look beyond the fight and see Seeder raising her own weapon, hurrying to finish what she started now she knows I've seen her.

"No!" I scream, crossing the short stretch of sand between us quicker than I thought possible.

My blade sinks into her mere seconds before she'd have reached my brother, who had been too preoccupied to notice her virtually silent approach, and she falls to the ground, my momentum taking me with her. I look up to see Chaff racing away down one of the sand pathways towards the jungle, and though he stops once and turns back, Gloss' presence is enough to keep him from trying to rescue the woman he can tell might as well be dead already.

I scramble away from Seeder, pushing my hair frantically back from my face when I can't see and ending up with sand in my mouth and eyes suddenly almost blinded by the bright light of the sun. I can't think. I can't breathe. I've killed again. I've killed a woman who has never done anything to harm me before now, and I can't take it back.

I was so worried by the thought of Gloss going back into the arena that I didn't even think about it before, but now it's happened and the shock and horror at what I've done is suddenly overwhelming. Seeder stares back at me, her expression calm and serene despite the pain she's in. Somehow that makes it all worse.

"You can't blame me for trying," she gasps as Gloss takes me by my arms and begins to pull me back. "It was the best chance I was ever going to get."

"It's fine, Gloss," I tell him quietly, pulling away from his grip so I can get closer to the woman from Eleven. "I don't blame you," I say to her. "I didn't want to kill you either. But nobody touches my brother in this place and lives."

"Then finish it," she says, convulsing as her blood continues to gush out from between her fingers as she presses them against her stomach. "Quick. Please."

Like last time, I think to myself. Like Elsah and Marcia, Octavian and Davena. Cashmere the Mercy Killer. Except this time it isn't quite the same. This time it was me who inflicted the first wound. To save Gloss' life. Because Gloss is here with me so I can't hesitate and I can't look back.

I close my eyes and push the tip of my sword into her chest where her heart is. It's only when her cannon doesn't fire that I remember we haven't been here long enough for the Gamemakers to class the first battle as being over.

"What are you playing at?" I shout, rounding on Gloss. "She could have killed you! Have you totally forgotten where you are? You could have died! I could have lost you."

My last words trail off into little more than a whisper, and when he moves to stand in front of me, wrapping me tightly in his arms, my anger turns abruptly to a mixture of remorse, sadness and complete relief that I got there in time.

"I killed her, Gloss," I say, my voice shaky and uncertain. "I killed her."

I'm not sure what I expect him to say, only that I expect him to say _something_, however instead he pushes me away and lifts his arms up to reach behind his head. Before I can protest, he fastens my necklace around my neck and I feel the familiar weight of the sapphire pendant at my throat.

"No," I tell him, reaching for it to unclasp it again. "You have to wear it."

"It looks better on you," he replies, grasping my wrists and holding them still.

"Gloss-"

"I'm sorry," he breathes, and I know instantly we're not talking about the necklace now. "I wasn't thinking."

I don't know how to answer that so I say nothing. What can I say when deep inside I know I'd do it all over again a hundred times over if it was what I had to do to save his life? It might be wrong to put the value of one life above another, but he's my brother and I love him. I can't imagine myself reacting any other way.

I shrug my shoulders and pick up my sword again, not looking at it until I've walked the few steps to the water and washed the blood from the blade. When I return to my brother's side, he's drawn his own sword and is standing so straight and upright that I can barely tell Katniss shot him with her arrow. Despite what just happened, I sigh with relief.

"Stay or go?" he asks, and I know he's asking if we should keep the alliance or leave Brutus and Enobaria to it.

We walk away from the relative shelter of the Cornucopia, and instantly the sounds of the arena get harder to block out. I can hear swords clashing and tributes dying, although this time it's different to how it was in my last arena, quieter and less intense. I vaguely wonder if even now the viewers are complaining at how they didn't get their longed-for bloodbath, because the watery beginning to the Games saw to that. It made everyone too spread out, too distant from each other, and I can't imagine the first round of cannon fire lasting as long as it usually has in previous years. I wonder if President Snow's upset that I'm not dead yet?

"Cash?"

It's only when he speaks again that I remember Gloss is waiting for my answer, and I quickly look to our so-called allies and their few remaining opponents before turning to the forbidding trees and jungle.

Despite what I thought prior to my first Games, staying with the group was the best tactic last time I was in this situation. I don't think I'm ready to face the alternative of being alone with Gloss just yet, not when it might take more than two people to fight whatever this arena has to throw at us.

"Stay," I reply, and the sound of my voice must have carried across the beach because Brutus turns to face us.

"Five more down," he calls, speaking with far too much enthusiasm for my liking as he walks closer when his final victim crashes to the ground.

"Six," I reply, trying to keep my voice as flat and emotionless as possible. "Seeder's dead."

Brutus nods with what seems to be approval but Enobaria stares back indifferently.

"Let's go," she says. "There's no point staying here."

"Go where?" I ask, looking around and finding twelve identical sand pathways leading to a mass of trees which appear the same no matter where I face. "Everywhere looks the same."

"Then I don't suppose it makes much difference," she answers, shrugging her shoulders.

Decision made, we head off along the nearest stretch of sand in a not-quite-comfortable silence that puts me instantly on edge. To start with I think that all I can hear is the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, but when I listen closely I realise I can hear other sounds as well. I can hear birds and animals I couldn't begin to identify, and they combine to make the jungle seem even more forbidding than it did before.

I suddenly want to stay where I am, to remain at the Cornucopia where Career Alliances have traditionally made their in-arena home, but I keep walking anyway. The Gamemakers don't do anything without a reason and a plan. They want us to go into the trees and I know enough to understand that they'll force us in there sooner or later if we don't go of our own accord.

* * *

><p>Nobody signals or says a word, but all four of us stop when we reach the trees. The arena starts to slope upwards where the sand ends and the jungle starts, and when I peer ahead of myself, all I can see is thick, dense foliage and the occasional patch of black earth. The trees are tall, so tall that I can't see the top of most of them, and yet they don't seem to have any branches low enough for anyone to reach. At least the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight will have a hard time climbing in this arena. At least that's one of her advantages that's been minimised even if it hasn't quite been cancelled out.<p>

"Are we moving or not?" growls Brutus, drawing a long knife from his belt and flicking it at the leaves and branches blocking our way. "Or are you all scared?"

"I'm not scared of anything," replies Enobaria immediately, drawing her own knife and striding forwards through the trees.

I stare after her for a few seconds, realising that what she said is more likely to be the truth than it is to be false bravado. Whatever's happened to her in the past has made her both the perfect assassin and the perfect tribute, for she neither feels emotion when she kills nor fears her own death. And I'm about to walk into this strange jungle with her. Despite what I thought only a short time earlier, if I could take back my decision to stay with District Two then I would.

"Come on, Cash," says Gloss, interrupting my thoughts as he takes my hand. "We need to keep watching them."

I look up at him and nod, but still I don't move. The heat of the sun beating down on me is making my jumpsuit stick uncomfortably to my skin and all I can think is how much it reminds me of before.

"It's different this time," whispers Gloss, dropping his voice so the others won't hear. "This time I'm here with you so it isn't like before."

"That doesn't make it better, little brother," I reply, squeezing his hand and stepping forwards.

* * *

><p>I'm not sure how long we keep walking for but it feels like hours. I walk behind Gloss, staring unblinkingly at his back as he follows the path Brutus creates through the foliage. Enobaria walks slightly to the side of him, and though I started off following her instead, I quickly gave up. I dread to think how much noise the rest of us are making, but she walks silently through the jungle, drifting through impossibly small gaps and leaving virtually no sign of her presence at all. She doesn't even seem to feel the oppressive heat like the rest of us, and not for the first time I laughingly wonder to myself if she's actually human.<p>

"There's nothing in here," says Gloss eventually, stopping so abruptly that I walk into him. Instead of pushing me away, he puts an arm around my shoulders, holding me against him so I can rest as he looks around at the other two. "No water. No food. Something's not right."

"There must be something in here somewhere," replies Brutus, his voice unusually quiet in a way that tells me perhaps our unnerving surroundings are getting to him as well. "There was nothing at the Cornucopia. They wouldn't leave us without any form of food and water supply at all."

"They might," I say ominously. "Desperation makes for more entertainment."

Enobaria takes a sharp intake of breath and flicks a knife from her sleeve, flinging it straight at me in one fluid movement. I duck down instinctively, somehow finding the strength to take Gloss with me, and it's only when we're both crouching on the soft, black arena floor reaching for our own weapons that I realise the knife went way too high for it to have been aimed at me. I hear a soft sound of something dropping to the ground behind me and spin around instantly.

"There's your food source," says the woman from Two, smirking wickedly back at me as she walks past to pick up whatever it was that fell.

When she holds it up, I see an animal that looks almost like a large rodent. It now has a knife through its throat and dark red blood drips down from the wound.

"What _is _that?" I ask, shuddering at the sight of it.

"Food," she replies. "We'll have to make camp somewhere so it might as well be here. Light a fire, I'll go and get some more…creatures."

I stare back at her, torn between not wanting to set a precedent by following her orders and not wanting to have to leave Gloss behind so I can go hunting for food in the jungle. In the end I nod once and reach down to pick up a fallen branch. I haven't any better ideas right now so I might as well go along with her. Keep myself busy and I won't have time to think. She nods in return, pulls her knife from the creature before throwing it to Gloss, and then disappears silently into the jungle.

"Can we actually eat this?" asks my brother, looking down at it suspiciously.

I shrug my shoulders. "We'll see what it looks like when it's cooked," I tell him distractedly, more intent on watching Brutus to make sure he's not foolish enough to try anything stupid.

"What's the plan then?" he asks, and I can tell he doesn't mean the plan for the next couple of hours.

"I don't know," I reply. "Who can say what will happen even in the next hour. Try anything and you'll regret it though, I promise you."

He starts to reply to me, his face suddenly contorting with an anger that to me seems disproportionate to what I said, but he doesn't get chance to speak because his words are drowned out by cannon fire.

"Eight dead," says Gloss when the arena finally returns to silence.

"Between us, Moreno and I killed six. You killed District Eleven-"

"Seeder," I interrupt as my stomach tightens so uncomfortably at the mention of her that I think I might be sick. "She has a name, you know that as well as I do."

"Names mean nothing in the arena," he replies coldly. "Who is the last one?"

"District Five," answers Gloss. "Odair must have killed him right at the beginning."

"Then there are fifteen left to fall," I say, shuddering at the thought that one of those fifteen will be me.

"Yes, there are," answers Enobaria, appearing from nowhere in a gap between two of the trees. "We should rest now and hunt later."

I take the branches and relatively dry leaves that Gloss holds out for me and begin to arrange them on the floor. All I can think is that I hope Falco chooses now to send me a sponsorship gift because I have no idea how to start a fire without matches. And that would not only be really embarrassing but could also be seen as a weakness by the pair from Two. Any weakness at this stage could cost me everything, and more importantly it could cost Gloss everything. I can't let that happen.

"Look!" calls Brutus, pointing up at the sky.

The silver parachute lands at my feet, and I sigh with relief when I find two large bottles of fresh, cold water. I smile, the suddenly grateful look in my eyes all for Falco, before taking one of the bottles for myself and handing the other one to Gloss. Enobaria says nothing and her expression doesn't change, but I can see the longing on Brutus' face and instinctively reach for the hilt of my sword.

I think the only thing that stops him challenging me is the arrival of a second parachute, however it quickly becomes apparent it's destined for one person alone and that person is Enobaria.

"For Panem's sake, Barbieri," snaps Brutus. "If you value your pretty little daughter then do your job. Your second job, that is," he adds, his lips tightening into a cruel smile.

A fourth bottle of water arrives seconds later. My sword is in my hand before he's even picked it up, before I have time to think about what I'm doing.

"Don't you _dare _threaten her," I growl, thrusting my water bottle into Gloss' arms and stepping towards Brutus.

He puts both bottles down and draws his own sword at the same time as Brutus draws his.

"Children, that's enough," snarls Enobaria, throwing down a surprisingly large number of dead creatures onto the floor between us. "If there are twelve others still alive out there then now really isn't the time for acting like twelve year olds on their first day at the Training Centre."

I move back half a step, more to distance myself from what unfortunately looks like it will be my next meal than to distance myself from Brutus, and I struggle not to stare at Enobaria as I wonder why she would choose to be the peacemaker. I suppose she just doesn't want to be on her own so soon any more than we do, but with her it's impossible to tell, and I'd certainly never ask. Either way, I do as she says and so does Brutus. We make camp as best we can in total silence.

* * *

><p>"I never expected to be here again," says Brutus a couple of hours later as the sun goes down and we wait for the death recap.<p>

"You don't sound all that disappointed," I reply, trying and failing to keep the disapproval from my voice.

"Why would I be?" he answers immediately. "Nobody in here is a threat to me. Not even you, de Montfort."

I'm watching him closely in the steadily fading light, so I see the faintest flicker of doubt in his expression when Enobaria casually coughs pointedly from her side of the small fire. It's true what Ursala said. He pretends he doesn't but he does fear her, and that sign of a chink in his confidence is enough to make me able to smile back with a lightness I really don't feel.

"We'll see about that when the time comes," I reply, walking a few steps so I can lean against another different but equally as uncomfortable tree.

"Cash, come here," whispers Gloss. "Sit down. You're making me nervous."

I push myself upright and move to stand next to him as he sits by the fire, leaning back against yet another of the seemingly innumerable trees.

"This is the Hunger Games arena, Gloss," I hiss. "If you're relaxed then I'm worried."

He laughs at that and reaches up to grip my wrist, pulling me to the ground beside him.

"I can't," I say. "I have to be alert. I have to keep watch."

"I'll watch for a bit. Get some rest."

I continue to protest, stopping briefly when I feel Enobaria's eyes following my every move before carrying on in an even quieter voice. It's only when Gloss points out that I'll be no use to anyone if I'm completely exhausted that I give in and lie down, resting my head on his lap and staring into the fire I lit with the matches that fortunately accompanied the water.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Don't pretend this is a normal situation, Gloss," I reply, my words sounding harsher than I intended. "Don't forget where we are."

I feel his breath catch but he says nothing, his hand resuming its almost subconscious detangling of my hair with barely a pause. It's several minutes before he speaks again.

"How could I forget?" he says, gesturing up at the small patch of sky we can see just as the Capitol seal appears and the anthem begins to play.

The first photograph I see is that of the man from District Five, telling me instantly that whatever wound Enobaria's knife inflicted upon Beetee hasn't been fatal yet and that Wiress also survived the first day in the arena. Until I remind myself that they have to die so Gloss can live, the feeling of what I'd almost describe as relief is far stronger than I ever thought it would be.

The man from Six, both from Eight and Nine and then the woman from Ten follow that first picture in quick succession, and I begin to wonder if the morphling addict from Six died from the wound I gave him or by another's blade. But then Seeder's face appears and she seems to linger in the sky for a lot longer that all the rest. You killed me, she seems to say as she glares down at me. I didn't deserve to die but you killed me anyway. You took my life without hesitating, and now I'm gone forever.

Gloss brushes the back of his hand across my cheek, and it's only then that I realise I'm crying. I knew it would be even harder the second time, that before I die I'd have to do things that would make me despise myself and the people who put me here and even my opponents for being weak and stupid enough to get themselves under my blade in the first place, but I didn't realise it would hurt this much. I didn't realise it would make me feel quite so detached from the person I was a mere day earlier.

"We move as soon as it gets light," says Enobaria as the Capitol seal fades from sight to leave behind only what little light the moon provides.

"Maybe we should move now," I suggest, using all the strength I have to keep my voice steady as I sit up and scan the surrounding jungle uneasily. "We're a sitting target here."

"Won't make much difference if we move," she replies. "We can barely see and we've no idea where we are. If they want us to be targets then we will be."

"Doesn't mean I like it."

"Like it?" she says incredulously. "I don't think like comes into it. Into anything really. Life doesn't work like that."

"You should rest," I say, struggling not to let the pity I suddenly feel for her show in my tone. "I can keep watch."

"Like your girl did in last year's Games?" she snaps back, telling me that I failed totally. "I don't think so, District One. I trust only myself."

"Even you have to sleep sometimes," says Gloss, and I feel his hand settle over the hilt of his sword just in case.

"Not if I can help it, de Montfort."

I shake my head slightly and shuffle around until I'm more comfortable, or I should probably say slightly less uncomfortable, and close my eyes. It will only be for an hour or so. And then Gloss will wake me up so he can sleep. Or maybe I shouldn't go to sleep at all. But I feel so tired. It will only be for a short time…


	28. Chapter 28

_So... I know you all probably want to get on with the chapter, but as this is the last one (apart from the epilogue), I wanted to write a final Author's Note to say thank you to you all for your support. If you've enjoyed reading this now epically long trilogy even a tenth as much as I've enjoyed writing it then I'm happy._

_Also I'd like to thank Tanja for reviewing the previous chapter - I'd have replied to you if you were logged on... In answer to your question, I have a basic plan for the story and then I sit down to write and it just kind of happens. I know that probably isn't a very helpful answer but it's true ;) _

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I'm on my feet instantly, lifting my sword and looking for my opponent before I've even fully opened my eyes. The chiming noise that woke me continues and I scan my moonlit surroundings, vaguely registering Gloss' presence as he positions himself so we're back to back. A noise like that in the arena always means something so I wait for the attack to start, becoming increasingly puzzled when it doesn't. Then the strangely eerie sound stops as quickly as it started.

"What was that?" asks Gloss, and we both look across at the pair from District Two, who are as alert as we are but nowhere close to being back to back.

The dim light just about allows me to see Enobaria begin to answer, but anything she was about to say is abruptly cut off when the sky lights up. A flash of lightning strikes a tall tree that is almost directly opposite us on the other side of the arena, and further lightning bolts soon relentlessly follow it.

"Do you think it's raining over there?" I ask, leaning back against Gloss as I eventually begin to relax slightly.

"That doesn't look like the kind of storm that's providing a tribute with a water supply," replies Brutus ominously.

"I'm not in a rush to go any closer," adds my brother, both his tone and Brutus' making me realise I'm not the only one waiting for the cannon to fire.

However when nothing happens for several minutes, first Brutus sits back down and then Enobaria, the latter examining a wicked-looking knife with something close to reverence.

"Why is the lightning only over there?" I ask Gloss as we finally lower our weapons and sink to the floor, both of us remaining upright and straight-backed because we're still too tense to return to our previous positions.

"I don't know, Cash," he replies, staring into the distance at what is clearly a Gamemaker-induced occurrence rather than a natural one. "I don't know."

He pulls me against him when I shiver despite the continued oppressive heat, and together we watch the storm until it eventually stops about an hour later. I wait for something else to happen when it does, but there's nothing. Nothing I can see anyway.

"Too sudden," says Enobaria quietly, more to herself than to anyone else, telling me I'm not the only one growing suspicious. The Capitol is getting bored already so the Gamemakers are acting. And that is never going to be good for us.

Then a cannon fires, echoing in the almost darkness. I reach for my sword immediately even though my surroundings haven't changed, but I can't concentrate because I can't stop myself from wondering whose it was. Which one of us is dead? Which member of the group of people who linked hands on the stage last night as the audience cheered now has that same audience cheering for their death?

I visibly shudder at the thought and quickly force myself to fall still again because the last thing I want is to appear weak in front of District Two. But I only last what must be less than an hour, no matter how hard I try. It's almost impossible to just stay here when I suddenly want nothing more than to move, to get away from this place in the forest, where I feel more like a sitting target than someone resting in a place of safety and shelter.

"There's nowhere for us to go," whispers Gloss, somehow seeming to read my mind.

"We should keep moving anyway," I reply, already beginning to stand up.

"In the dark?"

"It's not totally dark," I answer, hearing how my desperation is starting to show in my voice. "We can still see."

"You want to move, District One?" asks Enobaria. "Why?"

"Don't you ever sleep?" I retort, annoyed that she was able to hear our hushed conversation.

"Why do you want to move?" she repeats immediately.

Before I can answer her, the sound of another cannon firing rings out across the arena, and though I hear no more and can see nothing at all, the butterflies in my stomach that had finally started to settle begin to race around once more. It might be my imagination, my fear of the unknown getting the better of me, but that one seemed closer than the last.

"Because we can't sit here doing nothing. And more to the point, we can't sit here being boring," I add meaningfully, knowing she'll understand what I'm really trying to say. "You said it yourself, we're here for one thing. Why don't we get on with it?"

"Fine," she replies, abruptly up and ready to move in an instant. "Let's go."

She takes a couple of steps away from our camp and Brutus follows her, but I remain where I am until she turns back, a vaguely irritated expression on her face.

"Not that way," I say, grasping Gloss' wrist to hold him by my side. "That way's towards the cannon fire."

"Don't be ridiculous, de Montfort," replies Brutus scornfully. "How can you possibly tell? They deliberately make it so the cannon fire can be heard everywhere in the arena."

"I can tell," I say, because I genuinely believe I can. I said the same thing nine years ago and everyone had mocked me too, but it didn't make me think it any less then and it still doesn't now.

"Even if you can, you say you want to finish this, so why would you want to go in the opposite direction to where all the action is?" asks Enobaria, making me mentally curse her intelligence and logic.

Because I want to keep Gloss out of it. Because I want to keep him safe. That's my real answer but I can't tell her any of that. If I do then the president will probably see to it that the Gamemakers target my brother at every available opportunity. The only hope I've got is if Snow keeps thinking I want to live.

"I don't really care which way we go, District Two," I snap back. "Just so long as we keep moving."

I can somehow see her victorious smirk despite how the dim light of the moon makes her eyes little more than shadows on her pale face, but she says nothing more. Gloss pulls his wrist from my hand only to wrap his own hand around my upper arm to push me in front of him as we move forwards.

"I've got your back, sister mine," he hisses under his breath, his voice as light and teasing as it would be if we were walking through the park back home despite the seriousness of his words. "So keep watching them and don't look away."

I don't reply but I do as he says instinctively because I don't trust our so-called allies any more than he does. Not for the first time, I seriously consider trying to end the alliance now, trying to kill Enobaria and Brutus before they even realise what's happening.

But then I focus on the lethal woman Ursala told me everyone back in District Two fears and I see her hand tighten into a fist in the pocket of her jumpsuit. It will most likely be tightening over the hilt of a knife, because I can tell from her body language and the way she's carrying herself that she'll know I'm attacking her before I do.

Therefore I very quickly think better of it and keep walking. Another cannon fires a short time later. I can see nothing but the trees and the dense foliage that surrounds them, but on the rare occasions that the jungle falls silent I'm sure I can hear the sound of the waves crashing against the beach, so perhaps we're not as far from the Cornucopia as it seems. However though the arena must be small this year, I can't see the water no matter how hard I try to find it.

I wonder what Falco's thinking as he's watching me now? I wonder if he's missing me even though I'm right there in front of him on the monitor, because I know I'm missing him. I'd give almost anything to see him one more time, to feel his arms around me and to hear him tell me he loves me as much as I love him. But he never will again. And I will never see him again. Before I know it I'm reaching up to wipe my tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.

I still have my hand raised when I see a sudden flash as the silvery fabric of the parachute catches the light, so I'm able to snatch it from mid air as it falls towards me. When I look closer, I find that all it has attached to the end of the impossibly fine cord is a single seashell.

"What's that?" asks Gloss, and I hold it up to him. "Lace's idea of a joke?" he continues, walking into me to keep me walking before the others notice we've stopped.

"I don't know," I reply, and another parachute appears before I've even finished speaking. It bears another virtually identical seashell and nothing more.

I shrug my shoulders and keep moving. Gloss follows behind me but I don't have to be able to see his face to picture the puzzled expression I know is there.

After that I'm so busy thinking about the first two parachutes that the third one hits me on the head because I don't notice it arriving. I shiver when a droplet of cold liquid runs down my back, and when I look at this seashell, I find it covered in sand and drenched in sea water. Then I understand. This is just like before, when I received a series of crackers individually because it was the only way Falco could keep me away from the enclosed room that would have killed me. Only this time there's one difference. It's not to tell me where not to go but where to go instead.

"We need to go back to the beach," I say, and my voice makes the others stop even as I do the same.

"Why?" asks Enobaria, sounding curious and sceptical but fortunately not unwilling to listen.

"Because-" I start, but I don't get chance to finish as at that moment there's a dreadful whooshing sound and it shocks me into silence.

"What was that?" I ask, turning around to look frantically at each of the others in turn.

"I've said this a lot recently but I don't know, Cash," replies Gloss, trying to smile even though his eyes give his panic away instantly.

Enobaria's only response is to pull two knives from her belt and scan our surroundings in search of something to fight. It takes me a minute but then I realise what's missing. Brutus. He's never been one to remain quiet in the past so why isn't he talking?

Then I hear a noise that reminds me of the sound made by someone's hand banging against a window, and I look around to see the man from District Two hammering his fist against an invisible wall. He's obviously talking because his lips are moving, but I can't hear a word he says.

I try to stop myself from doing it but all I can think about is the last time I was in the arena and a barrier like this appeared to contain me in one place. Whatever the Gamemakers have planned, it can't be good.

"Cashmere, stop!" shouts Gloss as I throw myself at the barrier, slamming against it with all my strength and screaming at it when it doesn't even waver. "We have to keep moving. Look," he says, pointing at Enobaria, who has already decided to abandon her district partner and run in the opposite direction. "There's no barrier on the other side."

He puts his arm across my shoulders, pulling me along with him as he follows Enobaria through the trees. I look back only a few strides later and Brutus is already completely obscured by the leaves and branches. I can't say I'm sorry to lose him, and that thought makes my heart rate gradually begin to return to normal. Or normal for the arena anyway.

"It seems you're outnumbered now, Moreno," says Gloss, and I know he's using false bravado to hide his nervousness at this new arena development even though I don't think anyone else watching will be able to.

Enobaria shrugs, any fear she feels buried so deep that it's totally invisible. "Make a move on me and I'll rip your throat out," she snarls, her voice a low growl that goes right through me. "And you've seen me do it before so you know I could."

* * *

><p>We keep walking for what feels like hours even though the rational part of my mind knows it's only a few short minutes, onwards and onwards without ever stopping or even slowing down despite the obstacles that block our way. Enobaria is tireless, and I quickly start to think she's going to keep walking forever. But then she stops, coming to a halt so suddenly that I almost crash into her.<p>

"What is it?" I snap, drawing my sword.

I tense and instinctively move closer to Gloss, still unsure if my first thought is to protect him or to look to him for protection instead. Still Enobaria doesn't move, and it begins to seem that the jungle is silent in a way it never has been before. Then the screaming starts, echoing around the trees endlessly.

I expect to hear a cannon fire and for the silence to return, but the screaming doesn't stop. It just keeps on going, a bloodcurdling wail of terror and pain that I've never heard the like of before, not even in the arena from years ago that I've come to call 'mine'.

"District Two! Come back!" shouts Gloss as Enobaria abruptly sprints towards the noise, pulling knives from her jumpsuit as she moves.

As we blindly follow her simply because we don't know what else to do, I quickly realise that a cannon isn't going to fire. There is nobody left in this arena who could produce a sound like that screaming. Even the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight is too old, and the tone isn't right for her voice anyway. No, this isn't the sound of a Victor-tribute falling prey to the arena. This is something else. And when I hear Enobaria cry out her long-dead sister's name, I know this isn't going to end well.

"Sibilla!" she yells, totally oblivious to anything else that might be happening around her.

"No!" replies the voice, realistically hoarse because of all the screaming even though I know it can't be real. "En, you have to run! Run! Go!"

We almost reach a small clearing in the trees but Gloss pulls me up just before we get there, holding me against him as we watch Enobaria searching frantically for the source of the voice. I shrink back slightly when it occurs to me that the rational, sane part of her that knows her sister is dead is now buried so deep inside her that she can't hear it at all. It seems unbelievable to me that the fearsome, deadly woman I am acquainted with was once a young girl who had a family, who had a big sister who used to shorten her name to 'En'.

"This is what she heard all those years ago, isn't it? It sounds so real. How are they doing this, Gloss?" I whisper, gripping his arm so tightly I know he'll have bruises. "Why?"

"Because they can," he replies bitterly. "Because this is entertainment. And we should go."

"Go?"

"While we still can."

"Leave her? Leave the alliance?"

"Let's face it, Cash, it was never much of an alliance. And Moreno's lost it. She'll kill you as soon as look at you now."

"But-"

I don't get to finish what I was going to say because suddenly all I can hear are the screams of another very different and much more familiar person. I forget all about Enobaria and the Gamemakers and the arena. All I can hear is that scream, which fills my mind and cuts through me like a knife.

"Satin!" I shout, thinking of nothing but getting to my sister as I race through the trees with Gloss right behind me.

My sister's screams are joined by another voice then, a young girl briefly crying out for her mother before pain clouds her mind and makes her words unintelligible.

My brother and I stop in another small clearing as everything temporarily goes quiet, clinging to each other as if we fear the other will disappear if we let go. But then the tortured cries of anguish and unimaginable suffering begin again, and I sink to my knees when I recognise the voice, completely unable to support my own weight.

"No," I whimper, and Gloss is all that stops me from collapsing onto the black earth of the arena floor. "Please, no. Falco!"

I shout his name at the top of my voice, and the sound seems to echo through the trees endlessly as I fall forwards against my brother, clinging to the front of his jumpsuit so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't tear.

"It's just some kind of projection, Cash," he whispers as he pulls me close. "It's not real. It can't be real. Enobaria's sister's dead, Satin's at home and Falco's in the Control Room. It can't be real."

"They're not here in the arena but that doesn't mean it isn't real, Gloss," I reply, sounding hysterical even to my own ears but really not caring as the screaming begins again.

There are many more voices this time, all distorted by a world of agony and pain, and suddenly I can't see, I can't think, I can't hear anything but the screams of those I love. Satin, Victory, Falco, Felix, even Charis, Callista and Drusilla, even Miracle. It goes on and on and I don't think I'll be able to bear it for much longer.

"Look," gasps Gloss through his tears. "It's the birds, Cash. Jabberjays. Look."

He points up into the branches of the trees that surround us, and I can just about make out rows of the hated birds that the Capitol bred as spies during the so-called Dark Days. But that doesn't explain the sounds they're making. It doesn't explain where they first heard the voices they're mimicking.

I struggle to close my hand over the hilt of my sword, but Gloss pulls me back. I fight against him to start with, trying to break free of his grasp so I can silence the birds forever. Perhaps chasing a flock of jabberjays through dense jungle armed only with a sword is madness and totally pointless, but I'd do anything to stop the screams.

However I soon run out of strength and sag back into him. More and more jabberjays gather, and eventually we both get up, unable to bear it any longer. Gloss throws a knife at a jabberjay that screams like Narissa, but he's shaking too much to aim properly and it sinks deep into another one a short distance away. Felix's cries of agony are temporarily cut off, but it doesn't take long for them to start up again as another takes its place.

I take my brother's hand and try to drag him away, however he remains where he is and refuses to move. I don't understand. We can't fight them so we can't stay here. Why won't he run?

"Gloss, come on!" I shout, swinging my sword wildly above my head when a jabberjay that sounds like Satin lands in the branches of the tree we're standing beneath and starts screaming.

I can't reach the bird, it's too high up, and when my eyes meet Gloss', I see tears rolling freely down his cheeks. The birds don't relent, not even when I manage to drag us back to the transparent barrier we left behind before, and eventually we lose the will to fight.

"It'll be over soon, Cash," says Gloss, falling to the floor and taking me with him. "This can't last forever."

I am vaguely aware of sitting on the ground and raising my hands to my hair, pulling it hard in an attempt to block out the very different pain of hearing Falco's tortured whimpers and moans. I think I preferred the screaming to the total utter despair of this. Nothing could be worse than this.

"Make it stop," I hear someone say, and it takes a while for me to realise I'm the one talking, pleading with the Gamemakers even though there's no way they'll ever listen. "Please, make it stop. I'll do anything. Please, just make it stop."

Gloss shuffles across towards me until he's right by my side, so close that the side of his leg is pressed against mine. He barely pauses before he reaches up to cover my ears with his hands.

"Look at me," he says softly, momentarily lifting his hands away so I can hear him clearly even over the ceaseless noise of the jabberjays. "Keep looking at me."

I can still hear the birds screaming but not nearly as much, and it's somehow easier to bear when I'm focussing on my brother's dark-brown eyes, even if they are red with tears. I try to raise my hands to do the same for him but he shakes his head and covers them with his, bringing them up over my own ears instead and holding them there. The blisters and calluses on his skin are rough against mine, and the pressure of his familiar touch somehow makes the cries of the jabberjays fade even more.

I'm still sane and aware enough to know I'm being selfish, that I should force him to shield himself from this latest form of Gamemaker-created mental torture instead of worrying about me, but I just can't do it. I can't bring myself to pull away from him because I know I'll hear the birds again and I can't bear it.

* * *

><p>After what feels like hours or maybe even days, Gloss finally lowers his hands, rubbing his arms where his muscles have cramped from being in the same position for so long.<p>

"They've gone," he says quietly, as if speaking too loudly will bring them back. "Just like that. One second they were there and then they weren't."

Just like the lightning storm, I think, and I open my mouth to reply, to suggest that the Gamemakers had somehow programmed them or something, but no words come out. All I can do is cry, my whole body shaking and trembling as I collapse into Gloss and totally lose what little control I'd managed to maintain.

"It's not real, Cash," he whispers, rubbing my back soothingly. "It's just a trick, an illusion and nothing more."

"What if it isn't? What if they really hurt them? Victory's just a little girl, Gloss. How did they make her scream?"

"It's not real," he repeats stubbornly. "I have to believe that. I have to believe they're safe back home waiting for you to get out of here."

"Gloss-"

"Look," he says, cutting me off before I can argue and tell him I won't be the one going home.

I follow the direction of his gaze to see another silver parachute as it floats down to land on my lap. When I examine it I find a small pot of strawberries and nothing more, but that's more than enough. There's only one person not in the arena with me who would send them, and that's Falco. Surely this has got to mean he's alive and still in the Control Room. And that means there's still hope, hope that he'll be able to find a way out when this is all over.

"See," says Gloss, smiling slightly. "I told you so."

I pass two of the berries to him and eat two myself, not trusting myself to speak without having another emotional breakdown because my mind is full of thoughts of Falco and I miss him so very much. But then I make myself get up and hold my hand out to Gloss.

We have to keep moving or we'll be an even easier target for the Gamemakers, and now I'm starting to mentally recover a little, reality is beginning to catch up with me again. I have to be on my guard. Enobaria and Brutus could be anywhere, as could Finnick Odair and the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight. Any one of them wouldn't miss the opportunity to take advantage of my weakness if I let them.

"What's that noise?" asks Gloss as he takes my hand and gets up to stand beside me.

Sure enough, when I stop to listen, I can hear a low, muffled sound coming from a short distance away. My first thought is that it's more jabberjays, but then I change my mind. The birds have gone. They've provided the audience with their entertainment and now they've vanished. They won't be back yet, not until they have new victims to torment.

I raise my sword at the same time as Gloss raises his, and together we edge forwards through the trees and foliage until we reach a small clearing. What I see there shocks me more than anything else I've seen in the arena, for I see Enobaria curled up in a tight ball on the floor, rocking slightly and sobbing to herself, seemingly oblivious to both our presence and the rest of her surroundings. She looks tiny and vulnerable. She looks nothing like the ruthless, lethal killer I've always seen her as, and I don't quite know how to react.

"Enobaria?" I say, realising I should probably be trying to put a sword through her rather than offering her gentle words but at the same time feeling unable to bring myself to do it when she's in such a state.

I take another tentative step forwards, ready to defend myself should I need to because I still don't quite trust her, but though she stops audibly crying, she makes no move to attack.

Then I hear the snapping of branches and the rustle of leaves from the other side of the clearing as Brutus appears. He approaches his district partner cautiously, and quickly jumps back when she lashes out as soon as he gets within striking distance, like a wild animal trapped in a snare.

Nobody moves for several minutes until the woman from District Two finally sits up and looks around at each of us in turn. When her angry eyes meet mine it's a real effort to keep myself from backing away. However I make myself stand my ground, instinctively knowing that now isn't the time to show weakness.

"Say even one word and your death will be even slower and more painful than I'd planned it to be before," she growls, her eyes not leaving mine as if she somehow knows any fear I feel is mingled with more than a little pity.

"Am I allowed to say that we have to move?" I snap back, forcing myself to speak harshly because I know she'll accept no other alternative. "You can stay here forever if you want to but I'm not going to."

She snarls wordlessly at me in response and immediately sets off into the jungle again, leaving the rest of us staring after her. The way she moves away from the place where the jabberjays first gathered rather than towards it is now the only visible sign of what just happened, and once more I don't know whether to be amazed or terrified by how quickly she can switch her emotions off.

Brutus follows her along a slightly different path, which takes him a little bit away from the rest of us, and then Gloss takes my hand, pulling me onwards without looking back. Initially I don't like being virtually out of sight of the other two in case they're planning something and I don't see until it's too late, but after a while I begin to relax, comforted by Gloss' familiar presence despite the situation.

"What are we going to do, Gloss?" I ask eventually, smiling when he holds a rare low branch back so I can walk through the small gap in the trees. I can see him better now it's started to get light so I see the way his smile fades at my words. "Seriously. I know we've only been in here a day but it doesn't feel like these Games are going to last much longer." He raises his hand to stop me, and I can tell from his expression that he doesn't want me to continue, but I carry on anyway. "We have to talk about this. We have to talk about what we're going to do when the end comes."

"Why?" he replies instantly. "Why not just wait for the end to get here first? Talking about it isn't going to change it and it isn't going to make it any easier, so what's the point?"

"I don't know. I just know that I can't carry on like this. I'm going to go crazy in here, really I am."

"I think that's what they're counting on," he whispers back, stopping and turning to face me. "This is entertainment, Cash. You know that, you said it yourself."

"But-"

"But you have to be stronger than that. You have to hide what you're feeling so they can't see."

"The jabberjays-"

"The voices weren't real, Cash. They can synthesise and match voices in the Capitol that are so convincing you can't tell they're not genuine. Honestly they can. Vesper said so. She showed me."

"I bet she did," I retort, raising my eyebrows and trying to make him laugh in the hope he'll change the subject. I might have started this conversation but I suddenly wish I'd simply stayed quiet and kept on walking.

"They weren't real," he repeats, stubbornly ignoring my unspoken jibe about the Capitolian woman I suspect he knows a lot better than he's letting on.

"Even if they weren't real. They still made me think. I'd been trying to stop thinking about Satin and the rest of them," I reply, once more aware enough of where I am to have the sense not to mention the names of those I love when I know the whole nation is watching. "but now I can't stop."

I look up at him when he doesn't immediately answer me, and when I see the expression of horror and rage on his face I go to step back away from him. He grips my upper arms so tightly it hurts, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"Don't move, Cashmere," he breathes, his use of my full name terrifying me almost as much as the look in his eyes.

Even as he speaks I get the feeling we're no longer alone and my heart begins to race. He lets go of my left arm and reaches down to grasp his sword, slowly pulling it from his belt. Before I have time to react, he yanks me forwards so I'm suddenly on the floor behind him, and when I turn around I'm immediately transported back nine years to when I was in the arena last time.

The creature snarling at us has the massively long, fang-like teeth of the muttations I fought before, only this one looks even bigger and stronger, like someone in a lab somewhere has spent time and effort making it even more lethal than it's kind ever were previously. I can't bear to look at its face, at the thick black fur that frames blood red, pupil-less eyes, but when look down at its paws instead, I shudder to see each one has four thin, pointed silver claws, which shine in the light of the rising sun like the needles they use to inject the trackers into our arms before the Games start.

It charges at Gloss, roaring when he slashes his blade across its chest, clearly aiming for its throat and not quite getting there. I jump to my feet, my sword in my hand even though I have no memory of it getting there because there's no way I'm going to let my brother put himself in the way of danger to defend me. At that moment another muttation emerges from the shadows and when I scan the area around me, all I can see are seemingly endless pairs of red eyes staring back.

I can hear sounds of fighting a short distance away and I know instantly that Enobaria and Brutus have their own battles and won't be here any time soon even if they decided to help us in the first place. I find it impossible to believe I'm the only one who has realised this Quell isn't going to last much longer, so I seriously doubt they would. And that means we're on our own, fighting for our lives on only the second day because the president wants this mess cleared up as quickly as he can engineer it. Even if it means having every last Victor ripped apart by his muttations.

I lash out instinctively when one of the creatures pounces on me, imagining President Snow in its place, and my blade sinks deep into its neck, spraying me with blood as black as its fur. Gloss kills another one, protecting me as I struggle to pull my sword free, and after that we position ourselves back to back. I don't know how long we're fighting for, but it feels like a lifetime.

"I can't carry on for much longer, Gloss," I gasp eventually, tasting blood in my mouth from where I've bitten my lip in an attempt to make myself keep my concentration. "I'm sorry but you're going to have to run. I'll hold them off for as long as I can."

I get no response to that and the fight continues as the creatures keep coming. This is worse than before, and not just because Gloss is with me. It was hard last time and I finished the fight totally exhausted, but this time is different. This time I know I'm not in the condition I was and I know I'm not going to be able to keep going for long enough to outlast our attackers. All I can think is how Falco must see it too, and how much it's going to hurt him when he has to watch me fall.

"Gloss!" I call, raising my voice as much as I can even though I know he heard me the first time. "Do as I say and go!"

"Never!" he shouts back, moving away from me to reach a creature on the other side of the clearing. "I'll never leave you so if you want me to live then keep fighting!"

His words give me an extra burst of strength, and it's enough to hold the creatures off for a few minutes more, but it doesn't last. I lose my footing and a massive force slams into me, knocking me to the floor and the sword from my hand. I hear the muttations growl as they close in for the kill and I jerk a dagger from my belt, but the attack I know I can't fight never comes.

The nearest muttation jumps towards me but Gloss tackles it in mid-air before it can reach me, sending both him and the creature flying into one of the trees. He crashes to the floor with a sickening crack and then doesn't move.

"Gloss!" I scream, my voice louder and more full of fear than anything produced by the Gamemakers' jabberjays as it echoes around the jungle.

I stagger to my feet and stumble towards him, lashing violently at any muttation in my way until I finally reach the foot of the tree where he lies. When I get there I throw myself to the ground in front of him, shielding him as best as I can as the light is quickly blocked by our foes as they close in.

I can't fight them all. I would if I could but I can't. I've barely got the strength to move so I can't take them all on. I tried to protect him but I've failed. And now we're both going to die.

I turn away from the muttations, unable to bear looking at them, and bury my face against the collar of Gloss' jumpsuit instead. I try to shield him but I can't, and even if I could, I know that ultimately it won't make a difference as the whole of Panem watches us die.

Before I wanted him to wake up, but now all I want is for him to stay unconscious, to remain unaware until it's all over. If he has to die then I want it to be painless. I need it to be painless, even though it won't be the same for me.

The muttation's breath is red hot on my skin as it sinks its lethal front teeth into my upper arm, and the pain that sears through my body is greater than any I've felt before, even when Dahlia stabbed me with her knife in my first arena. A bloodcurdling shriek of agony fills my mind, but by the time I work out it was me who made that dreadful sound, the intense heat has gone and all I can feel is the slight warmth of blood running down my arm.

When I eventually summon up enough energy and courage to lift my head and look around, the muttations have all gone.

* * *

><p>I'm not sure how much time passes after that. All I know is that it's starting to get light and Gloss still hasn't regained consciousness.<p>

Enobaria and Brutus are still with me, the latter nursing the wounds he received during his own fight with the muttations, the majority of which still lie scattered around us where they fell. His district partner seems to be asleep at the foot of a tree a short distance away, but she has her back to me and I can't be sure.

I won't be going anywhere near her anyway, because that would mean walking away from Gloss, and I won't do that. Not when he's defenceless, District Two could turn in a split second and the rest of the arena's concealing Panem knows what else. I won't even move to treat my own injuries despite how I know he'll be mad at me for it when he finally wakes up.

"Are we going to stay here forever?" asks Brutus eventually, narrowing his eyes as he looks across at me.

"I'm not stopping you from leaving," I reply, trying to keep the edge out of my voice when all I want to do is pull the knives from my belt so I'm ready to defend Gloss with my life if I have to. "You can go whenever you want."

I can just about see the suspicion in his expression through the pale dawn light, and Enobaria soon turns around to face us, proving to me that she probably wasn't anywhere near asleep.

"Those mutts just vanished," she says, pretending she didn't hear my exchange with Brutus at all. "Like someone had flicked a switch or clicked their fingers. It doesn't make sense. Or maybe it does and we're not seeing enough to understand."

"You mean you think there's more to it than them not wanting us all finished as quickly as possible?"

"Obviously," she replies impatiently, her tone more than a little patronising. "If they'd wanted that then the three of you would be dead."

"And you wouldn't?"

"The mutts were more scared of me than I was of them," she answers, smirking back at me with an arrogance that I unfortunately don't think is unjustified.

"Cash?" whimpers Gloss groggily from behind me. "What happened?"

"Don't try to sit up yet," I tell him, half turning around and half trying to keep one eye on District Two. "You crashed into the tree when we were fighting the muttations. You've been out for hours."

My words have the opposite effect to the one I desired, because he sits up immediately, swaying slightly in a way that makes me dread to think how much everything's spinning around him. I scoot around so he can lean against me, my eyes never leaving Enobaria the whole time. She watches us with something almost like curiosity, with a thoughtful look on her face as if seeing us is making her think of the sister she lost. I vaguely wonder if she and Sibilla were ever anything like Gloss and me.

"How could you be so stupid, Cash?" snaps Gloss, pulling away from me and seeming a lot steadier as he looks down at my arm.

I bandaged it as best as I could with the dressings Falco sent me, but I couldn't do it properly in the dark and I couldn't see to clean it. Now I look at it, at the blood seeping out from underneath the poorly-secured bandage, I'm not at all surprised by his reaction.

"I couldn't leave you," I reply, reaching up to pull the fabric of my jumpsuit sleeve back and then immediately wishing I didn't. "I'd never have left you."

"Stupid," he whispers under his breath, but his expression as he pushes my hand away and looks at my arm is a lot softer than it was. "We should wait until it gets properly light," he continues, speaking much more loudly so Enobaria and Brutus can hear. "Then we can move again. Look for the others and finish this."

Much to my amazement, they do as he suggests without argument and sit back down, carefully positioning themselves as far from each other as they can whilst still keeping everyone in sight. Gloss carefully peels back the dressing from my wound, cleans it with some water from his bottle and then puts another bandage on. It hurts but he does it a lot better than I did, and I smile across at him as I start to push myself to my feet.

"Rest for a while. I bet you haven't slept at all," he says, holding me down so I can't stand.

"Of course I haven't."

"You should have."

"Then you shouldn't go around getting yourself knocked unconscious, should you? It's all your fault, little brother," I tell him, my tone teasing despite how all I want to do is shake him and scream at him because he shouldn't have been saving my life when I'm meant to be saving his.

"Go to sleep, Cashmere," he says with a mock-sternness that makes me laugh like it always does. "I need a couple of hours before we go trekking back through the jungle," he continues, dropping his voice to the quietest of whispers.

I nod slightly at his confession, letting him hold me in his arms as I drift off to sleep. Deep inside I know it's not right, that I shouldn't stay like this because I'm too comfortable and too reassured by his familiar presence, but I'm so exhausted that I can't quite summon up the strength to make myself move, especially when he seems to be leaning on me as much as I am on him. I know I'll have to end this soon, but it doesn't have to be now. It doesn't have to be yet.

* * *

><p>It's late when we wake up. Too late, and judging from the position of the sun in the bright blue and cloudless sky, it must have been at least noon by the time the black earth I'd quickly grown accustomed to began to be mixed with the sand of the beach as we reached the edge of the jungle. Brutus had been about to stroll out into the open, but at the last moment Enobaria pulls him back, and we've stood at the tree line watching the other group of Victor-tributes ever since.<p>

The first person I noticed was her. The Capitol's beloved Girl on Fire. She stood there with a slightly fragile-looking Wiress, pointing away from us in the direction of the jungle as she made her point, and shortly after she began to gather everyone together and prepare to leave. Then Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason moved into view and the girl from the coal district became an insignificant afterthought.

"I want to finish this," says Gloss quietly, his entire body rigid with tension and anger at the sight of the man from District Four who he will forever associate with our sister's death. "Now. It has to end."

"Don't be ridiculous, Gloss," I hiss back. "They'll see us as soon as we leave the cover of the trees."

"Not if they leave and go to the Cornucopia," interrupts Enobaria, nodding in the direction of the small group further down the beach. "Look. They're going."

Her eyes seem to shine with some kind of almost feral excitement as she watches them, but when I look closely I see there's no focus there. She's not seeing Everdeen and Odair and Mason. She's seeing faces from that night of nightmares twenty years ago, just like she did when she was in the arena before. It's what sent her mad and what drives her to kill, and I have to look away because something about her terrifies me.

"And how are we going to get over there without them seeing us?" I ask, finding my courage from somewhere because I really don't like this idea.

"These," she replies, tapping the purple belt that encircles her tiny waist. "They float."

"Because they won't see four purple floats bobbing in the water at all," I snap sarcastically.

"Careful, de Montfort," she growls back, brushing the handle of a knife and looking not at me but at Gloss instead, wordlessly telling me she knows my single biggest weakness and fear. I force myself to hold her gaze steadily when all I can think is that I want out. Right now. For me and especially for Gloss. "They won't be looking in the water," she continues eventually. "You saw them. They're too busy looking at the jungle and at each other."

"Maybe," I reply, reluctantly conceding that she may have a point even though there are still far too many potential flaws in the plan for me to even think about counting.

"And they're at the front of the Cornucopia," says Gloss, and I cringe to hear him agreeing with the woman from District Two because I know that whatever happens and whatever I think, there's no way I'll leave him. "They must be because we can't see them anymore. And that means they can't see us. This is our chance, Cash. Our chance to finish this."

I stare flatly back at him. And then what, little brother? Even if it works then we'll have outlived our usefulness to the Capitol's favourite psychotic assassin, and that means she'll turn on us before the Girl Who Should Be Set Alight's cannon has even fired. And the more I've seen of her since we entered the arena, the more convinced I become that I won't be able to fight her in a fair fight and win. I could probably take Brutus out because his arrogance makes him stupid, but there's no way I could fight Enobaria in the open in front of the Cornucopia and hope to live long enough to defend Gloss.

"But-"

"We can't stay in here forever," he replies, reaching across to rest his hand against the side of my face. Though his touch hurts where the sun has burnt my pale skin, I lean into him anyway, and he smiles softly in response. "It has to end somehow."

"Why now?" I ask, forcing my eyes away from his to see that Enobaria and Brutus are already heading across the beach towards the water with their eyes glued to the Cornucopia and the island it rests on.

"Because I'd rather take the risk and have it this way than sit here waiting for the Gamemakers to hurt us because the audience is bored," he whispers, plucking at the bandage on my arm as he continues. "Because every time I look at that I think of what could have happened to us and I'm enough of a coward that I'd rather fight than wait for something like that to happen again. And Finnick Odair's over there, Cashy. I know it's wrong but I can't help it. Even after all these years I still want to send him to Sapphire so she can make him pay."

He stares unblinkingly down at me and I stare right back at him. I won't be parted from him so I only have one choice. Falco forgive me but I have to. And perhaps Gloss is right anyway. Perhaps this is the only way to make this end. We've been watching the back of the Cornucopia for several minutes and I haven't seen one of our opponents. The more I think about it, the more I realise that we probably won't get a better opportunity than this.

I take Gloss' hand and we don't let go of each other even as we creep silently across the beach and sink into the water. It's warm from the heat of the sun, and just like when the Games first started, I find it a lot easier to stay afloat than I should. It seems Enobaria is right about the belts.

The water isn't deep to start with, so I walk out as far as I can whilst still clinging to Gloss. District Two are slightly ahead of us, and I find myself looking at my brother, almost hoping that he'll return my glance and nod back to the shore behind us. Then I realise that that isn't going to happen. If we turned back now then Enobaria and Brutus would fight. And then Everdeen, Odair and the rest of them would hear us and we'd be dead in less than a second.

We approach the far shore a short time later, and truthfully I'm stunned that we get as close to our target as we are without anyone noticing us. As we sink as low in the shallow water as we can get and approach the golden horn, I can't help thinking that if they were proper trained tributes then they'd have set a guard who would have seen us before we even left the beach. However the reality is that while I can hear the faint sound of them talking, I can't see anyone.

That is until I hear the singing. I can't make out the words. I can't even tell if the song has them, but I recognise the voice instantly. Wiress. And she crouches down by the water to wash the small object she's carrying, completely oblivious to our presence despite how close we are.

I start to move before Enobaria can nod at Gloss, who is closest to the woman from District Three, and I'm rising up out of the water before I have time to think. Wiress doesn't stand a chance, and though I try to focus on the inevitable battle, all I can feel is a vicious hatred for those who drove my once gentle and kind little brother to become the kind of man who can slash a blade across the throat of a defenceless woman.

Then I see the others, who have realised we're there despite how the Games' latest victim didn't even have chance to scream. For a split second I'm looking for Odair, but then all thoughts of him leave my mind as I see Everdeen.

She draws her arm back, taking the string of her bow with it, and everything suddenly seems to slow, almost like I'm watching on the television and the Capitolian camera crew have slowed the picture to make it more dramatic. I fly across the sand towards Gloss, throwing myself in front of him even as he starts to push me away, but I know even before I get there that I'm simply not tall enough.

The arrow sails over the top of my head and there's a sickening crack as it reaches the target it was always intended for. A massive force slams into my chest and I'm thrown backwards, landing awkwardly on top of Gloss, and though I don't truly understand what's just happened, my first thought is that he's not moving.

He's not breathing. This can't be happening. I promised myself and everyone I love that I'd protect him. He's my brother, he can't die because I won't let him. I won't let the Capitol win. I won't let them take him from me.

But then I feel the pain, and suddenly I can't see properly. I raise my hands to my chest and when I pull them back they're wet and sticky with what looks like blood. My blood.

I try to move but I no longer even have the strength to open my eyes. I lay my head on Gloss' chest, but where I'd normally hear his heartbeat, I find nothing but silence. Then the background noise of the fighting fades and the sky begins to darken.

I imagine Falco watching this now, watching as I die without saving my beloved brother's life, and I want to reach out to him but my body feels so heavy that I can't move. I open my mouth to repeat the last words I spoke to him as Felix led me away so he knows I meant what I said, but I can't speak.

I hope he knows how much I loved him. I hope he remembers that forever. And more than anything I hope he keeps his promise and gives President Snow a kick from me when he watches him fall.

* * *

><p><em>I'm almost scared to ask, but thoughts on that one? Thoughts on the whole storytrilogy in general? Whether you've reviewed every chapter, every so often or never at all then please talk to me now I've finally reached the end. I'd love to know how many of you are still reading and hearing from you will make me feel better after the trauma that is otherwise known as killing my beloved Cashmere..._


	29. Epilogue

_As you can probably imagine, providing closure for every character I've created in this massive trilogy within the confines of a single chapter proved to be impossible... So think of this as a snapshot from a short time after Cashmere's death seen through a very different pair of eyes. Keep reading to the end and everything will become clear, or at least _clearer_, I promise..._

Epilogue

I don't know what to think when I catch my first glimpse of District Thirteen. It doesn't look like it does on the films played by the Capitol, because on there it's a hazardous, smoking ruin devastated by the attack that ended the first rebellion, but it doesn't exactly look like the thriving stronghold of the new revolution either. It doesn't look like anything really, and it's only when the hovercraft lands that I understand why. Virtually the entire city has been built underground.

A mass of grey uniformed soldiers emerge from a heavily fortified metal door, weapons in their hands as if they think they're under attack. However I find it hard to believe they could feel threatened by me and the few others with me, the small group of people transported here from District Two for questioning after the destruction of the mountain fortress I've heard them call The Nut. And that's yet another thing I don't understand about all this.

"I don't like it here," says Velia, clinging to my arm as we're escorted through the door and immediately plunged into near darkness.

I look down at her, trying to smile encouragingly because I know it makes no difference if we like it here or not and if she's honest then so does she. I know I should say something to her as well, offer words of reassurance to drown out some of her grief, but I don't know what to say. Especially when we seem to be heading further and further underground.

"Name?" snaps a middle-aged man in yet another grey District Thirteen uniform when we reach the foot of the stairs we'd started to descend as soon as we'd cleared the entranceway.

"Isn't it on one of your many lists?" I snap back. I can still smell the smoke and dust on what's left of my black uniform and I can still see and hear the walls of the mountain crashing down on everyone trapped inside. I'm in no mood to be polite or make small talk. Not that I ever am, but that isn't the point.

"Name?" he repeats, meeting my fierce gaze steadily and without visible fear.

"Astraea Rossetti," I answer flatly, determined not to even blink.

Eventually he looks away, scanning the clipboard he carries for a minute before nodding once.

"They want to see you. Wait there."

Instead of moving over to stand by the wall as I'm directed, I remain where I am so I don't have to break Velia's suddenly painfully strong grip on my arm.

"And you are?" the man asks, turning to look at her.

For the first time since we stumbled onto the train seconds before it departed the crumbling mountain fortress, she throws her head back and scowls at our interrogator with something that resembles her usual fire and defiance.

"Velia Barbieri," she says, steadily meeting his gaze like I did, like he is just another opponent she's facing across the Arena sand.

The man looks at his list, shaking his head, and it's then that I abruptly understand. The piece of paper he's looking at is a list of the names of the people who spied for the rebels in District Two. That's why I'm on it and Velia isn't. Because Ursala did everything in her power to protect her daughter, including shielding her from the decision both she and I made.

He clicks his fingers and two more uniformed soldiers step forwards towards the young woman who is a mixture of friend and little sister to me. Velia lets my arm go and drops into the fighting stance I've seen her adopt countless times in the Training Centre over the years. It's only when I notice the District Thirteen soldier's weapons trained on me as well that I realise I've subconsciously reacted in exactly the same way. Even after nearly a decade has passed since I last saw the Arena. It seems old habits die hard.

"I've spied for Plutarch Heavensbee for nearly ten years," I shout, stepping in front of Velia before she does something stupid. "I've risked my life every day because I believe in the cause. This is the daughter of another one of the spies you suddenly considered expendable, and she's just watched her mother die at the hands of those she thought she was fighting with. If you want me to talk then you'll let her go free. If you don't do that then you can do whatever you like to us but I'll never say another word."

The soldiers exchange glances, and for a second they remind me of trainees at our Training Centre as they try to decide whether or not to risk committing to a fight they might not win. I've been spying for a long time and I'm intelligent enough to have worked my way very high up the ranks of the Fortress Command for a district girl. I'd bet my name isn't too far from the top of that list and these minions now realise they don't want to be the ones held responsible for losing any information I might provide.

"Fine," says the first man reluctantly as he nods to his colleague. "Escort them both to Command and let the president deal with them."

* * *

><p>The soldier ushers us forwards in total silence, and once again Velia clings to me as if she fears they'll separate us if she lets go for a second. For the first time in a long time I remember just how young she is when I realise she's holding on to the only familiar thing she has left, the only link she has to a home that no longer exists.<p>

"Wait there," says the soldier, finally stopping outside yet another metal door after leading us further underground than I thought possible.

He disappears inside, leaving us alone in the cold grey corridor.

"What if she wasn't dead?" whispers Velia eventually, lifting her head from my shoulder and looking up at me with eyes so wide they seem to take up her whole face. "She might have survived, mightn't she? You don't know she didn't. Maybe they got her out when everyone surrendered."

"I'm sorry, Ve," I reply, pushing long dark hair that's as unruly as her mother's was back from her face. "But nobody could have survived that. You know it deep inside, don't you?"

"But she should have ran," she says, reaching up to brush a single tear from her cheek and then examining her hand as if she doesn't understand why it's wet. "If she hadn't gone back for me when I fell then she'd have got out."

And you wouldn't.

I close my eyes for a second, reliving our frantic race down the enclosed passageway that started to collapse behind us even as we ran for our lives. Velia had stumbled, falling to her knees a couple of short metres from the platform where the train waited, and Ursala had gone back to lift her up. Even now I can hear the sickening crack as the ceiling of the passageway split and see the pain on my former-mentor's face as she lunged forwards to throw her daughter to safety less than a second before she was buried under literally a mountain of rubble that knocked me off my feet as it spilled out onto the platform.

"It's my fault. If I hadn't gone looking for you then she never would have followed me…"

"She died saving your life," I reply eventually, not entirely able to forget how I would most likely be dead if she hadn't made the decision she did. "Everything she ever did from the day you were born was for you, because she loved you more than anything else in the world. She wouldn't have wanted to go any other way."

"This way," snaps the soldier suddenly, interrupting our whispered conversation. We both step forwards but he raises his arm to stop us. "Just you," he continues, his cold grey eyes never leaving mine.

"I'll wait here," says Velia, promptly sliding down the wall until she's sitting leaning against it.

The soldier stares at her with an expression that I can only describe as shock on his face but he says nothing. There are a lot more grey-uniformed people in the corridor now, but Velia doesn't look in the slightest bit intimidated and I abruptly don't fear for her. Whatever she feels inside, however much she's grieving, she's showing no emotion now. She's got her Arena face back, and the aggression she radiates is enough to make everyone give her a wide berth. In other circumstances I'd laugh at the thought that she's unarmed and they're the ones with the machine guns.

* * *

><p>The room that seems to be known here as 'Command' looks remarkably like where I used to work in the Fortress. There's a huge table in the centre that looks like it's made of glass, with control panels around the edges and countless flashing lights. On the walls I can see more than one map of Panem, which, if it's anything like the ones I'm used to working with, changes colour in accordance with shifts of power and control across the country.<p>

On this one, the Capitol and its forces appear to be blood red, and I can't help thinking how appropriate that is. Virtually all of the death, destruction and suffering in Panem can be attributed back to President Snow, his predecessor and their respective governments, from the Dark Days to my husband's death to Ursala's. It's all down to them, and despite the demolition of my own district and the patriotism I can't quite suppress, my overriding instinct is still to make our dictators pay.

"Astraea Rossetti," announces the soldier before he turns and quickly leaves the room.

I look around and see about a dozen other people gathered around the glass table, most of them in the military uniform of District Thirteen. Then I focus on the large figure seated a short distance away and immediately recognise Plutarch Heavensbee. He nods to me and smiles, an expression that completely contradicts the mood in the room and yet still seems to fit his face perfectly.

"I'm very pleased to see you alive and well, Astraea."

"Because you know how much information I can bring you," I reply cagily, remaining by the door even as he gestures for me to sit down next to him. I might know there's absolutely no chance of leaving this place unless they want me to go, but being between them and the exit still makes me feel slightly better. "And you think I'll give it to you even after what just happened."

"War is a cruel thing," says the woman who sits at the head of the table. "Sometimes there is…unavoidable collateral damage."

"Astraea," interrupts Heavensbee before I can respond. "This is Alma Coin, the president of District Thirteen."

I stare at Coin, seeing a stern-looking woman who looks to be in her fifties. She has poker-straight steel grey hair that falls to her shoulders and hard eyes that wouldn't look out of place on one of our tributes in the arena. Everything about her body language and appearance screams confrontation, and in the end I let the instincts that have been drummed into me since the day I was born take over. It's easier than trying to control myself, and I've seen so much death and destruction today that I don't especially feel like showing restraint anyway.

"And how are you better than the one you seek to replace?" I snarl, reaching for the knife at my belt and only remembering it isn't there when I can't find it. "Have you any idea of the suffering and pain you inflicted on all of those people today? You didn't even give them a chance to surrender. You killed more innocent people than I can count. You killed people who had worked for you, spied for you, risked their lives for you. Ursala Barbieri's dead. Her daughter's sitting outside this room right now, grieving for a woman who didn't deserve to die."

"Difficult decisions have to be made during these difficult times," replies Coin, her expression and voice emotionless despite my outburst. "It always falls to a few to make sacrifices for the greater good."

"I don't see you sacrificing a lot," I snap back, leaning against the wall in an attempt to anchor myself to something so I don't fly at someone as powerful as Thirteen's president in a fit of rage.

"Ladies, please," interjects Heavensbee, sounding for all the world like he's ending an argument over a place at a dinner table back in the Capitol.

It's only when I finally unclench my fists and find my nails red with blood where they've broken the skin on the palms of my hands that I realise how close I was to losing it. I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply, attempting to clear my mind like Corvinus taught me to all those years ago. I'd always had a temper even then, and it had amused and infuriated him in equal measure right up until the day he left me to go to the arena.

"Astraea, come and have a look at this," says Heavensbee softly, his Capitolian accent somehow sounding strange in this dark and confined underground room. "You've seen the other side's version so you might be able to tell us if we've got anything wrong."

I take another deep breath and slowly cross the room towards the illuminated map of Panem, glaring at Coin as I pass. It crosses my mind that Heavensbee is just as likely to have ordered the attack on my district, but I push the thought away. I've secretly fought for the revolution since only a short time after Corvinus' death. I'm not about to give up now. Not when I know this is what he'd have wanted if he'd lived long enough to find out.

* * *

><p>For the next couple of hours, I tell those gathered in Command everything I can remember ever learning about the Capitol, the government and its military. I show them unmapped areas where they store weapons, I describe the chain of command and I tell them what little I know about the men and women who lead their regiments.<p>

I know from the expressions on their faces that it's more than they knew before, and for once I'm grateful for Capitolian arrogance. They let me see all of this and hear all these details because they were so egotistical and overconfident that they couldn't imagine a world where I wouldn't be loyal to a government I was meant to worship like a god. I almost smile at the thought of how that arrogance is probably going to be part of what will give the rebels the edge in the end.

Then for the next interminable amount of time they talk and talk about both what they've just heard and other details which mean nothing to me. They talk of military hospitals, propos, hijacking and mockingjays, and in the end I sit down in the corner of the room and switch off, grateful for the ability I've always had to blend into the background when I choose to.

I only concentrate on what they're saying when discussion turns to the possibility of a direct assault on the Capitol, because while I don't know much about the rebel's perspective on the war, I know enough to know that if they are successful in that then it could prove decisive. This could win them the victory we've been fighting for, but it soon becomes clear that it's fraught with risk and that none of them can come to an agreement over which plan of action is best.

Another District Thirteen woman, one who is slightly younger than her president and has black hair instead of grey but otherwise seems much the same to me, proves to be especially vocal and it doesn't take a genius to see Coin is losing her patience. The woman seems oblivious, but she lets the president silence her with just a look in response to a sudden crash coming from outside in the corridor. Everyone stops talking, moving and even breathing when the noise continues.

"What's going on out there?" asks a very anxious and frantic looking Heavensbee.

Even as he speaks, the door flies open and slams hard into the wall to reveal two people, who are immediately surrounded by about half of the District Thirteen soldiers who were out in the corridor when I came in. The rest are still out there if the noise I continue to hear is anything to go by, struggling with someone else I can't yet see. I crane my neck but I can't see Velia.

"Don't even think about it," snarls one of the intruders, a woman with a distinctly Capitol accent.

The soldier who'd been about to grab her backs away in response to her commanding voice, and I look at her closely then. She's petite, dark-haired and very beautiful, and her face is covered in soot and dust in a way that makes her green eyes the main feature I immediately focus on. Her clothes are filthy and torn and only one of her shoes still has its heel attached, but when she walks forwards further into the room, she moves like she has power, like she's used to being the one who does the telling rather than being the one who's told.

As she moves, the man who accompanies her mirrors her so he remains by her side. I eventually turn my attention away from her to look at him, and as I take in the golden circles that are tattooed in a line from both his hazel eyes, I realise I've seen him before. He was a stylist for the Games. He was Cashmere de Montfort's stylist before she died in the Victor's Quell.

"Fancy seeing you here, Plutarch," says the woman to Heavensbee, abruptly dragging all eyes back to her as if insulted they ever left.

"How did you get here, Narissa?" he asks, neither hostile nor welcoming. "What are you playing at?"

"She got here in the hovercraft my soldiers nearly shot down," interrupts Coin, glaring at the Capitolian woman called Narissa with no attempt to hide her hatred.

"Your soldiers should be more careful," retorts Narissa immediately, speaking with a level of derision that clearly manages to shock even District Thirteen's seemingly chronically unfeeling president. "And they should use what few brain cells they possess. If the Capitol's going to attack Thirteen then it won't do it in a single hovercraft that's barely airworthy, will it?"

Coin glares again, especially when a few of her people laugh in response to the other woman's words, but she doesn't speak.

"Hovercraft?" asks Heavensbee sceptically.

"A Capitolian one," confirms Narissa amusedly, brushing some of the dirt from her dress in a way that makes me long to tell her not to bother because it's a lost cause.

"How is that possible?" splutters the leader of the rebellion, telling me that security in the big city is every bit as tight as it was in the Fortress.

"With a little help from a friend," she replies, her lips curling up into a slight smile before she abruptly becomes deadly serious. "She risked her life for this. Her cover's blown now. And she's still there, Heavensbee. If you don't get her out alive then I swear right now that this country won't be big enough to hide you from me."

I expect Heavensbee to laugh, because after all, he's not only the leader of a whole army but is also at least three times the size of the diminutive-looking woman opposite him, but to my surprise his eyes widen and he shuffles nervously in his chair. The person she was before the war started was obviously powerful enough to make even the likes of him think twice.

"You'll have to tell me where she is," he replies, briefly struggling to meet her eyes until he regains his composure. "And you'll have to hope she's clever enough to stay out of trouble because there's no way we can get anywhere near the Capitol yet."

"There's no one smarter than my girl," answers Narissa immediately. "And I wouldn't worry about the other either."

"But I don't understand this," says Heavensbee, and I can tell he doesn't from the confusion on his face. "How did you get out without being shot down? Who flew the hovercraft?"

"Me, of course," she replies, speaking as if she's addressing an incredibly simple-minded child. "The woman who put you where you are today taught me many things."

"Why are you here?"

"To help you send Coriolanus Snow to meet his maker," she replies flatly. "But first you can call your guard dogs off," she continues, speaking to Coin this time at the exact same moment as the door flies open and another man comes in.

He emerges from a pack of District Thirteen guards with a little help from Velia, who crosses the room to stand beside me before glaring back at them with contemptuous eyes. I link my arm through hers without looking away from the Capitolians, wondering if this is how they feel when they watch the Hunger Games.

The familiar looking man I can't quite place glances around the room, seeming totally unruffled and unperturbed by the situation. He looks quite beaten up and his suit is as covered in dust and dirt as his companion's dress, but he still walks like he too had power and influence. Everything about him screams Capitol, and that is confirmed by the expression of shocked recognition on Heavensbee's face. For once in his life, the former Head Gamemaker is rendered speechless.

The recent arrival strides purposefully across the room and slams a tiny square of silver metal onto the table in front of Heavensbee. He leans down to look straight into the other man's eyes, and that makes the thin silver necklace he wears swing forwards. It holds a pendant of a single vivid sapphire and looks far too delicate to be worn by the man who now bears it. Seeing it makes me recall his identity immediately, because I now remember seeing it sparkle at the throat of the woman who wore it first.

"If you don't use this to bring him down then I'm going back there to do it myself," he growls, his voice low and infused with more anger and bitterness than I've ever heard.

Heavensbee says nothing for at least a minute as he raises the square of metal, cradling it in his hand like it's the most precious object in the world.

"How…? How did you get this? How did you get out? You died when we fled the Capitol. I saw you fall."

"Ways and means, Heavensbee," is the only response he gets as he passes the object to his assistant and she fits it into a panel on the side of the table.

She presses a button and a holographic map of the Capitol springs up, covered in hundreds of flashing lights. There is total silence in the room as everyone stares at it in awe.

"Does Snow know you took this?" asks Coin, looking at the man from the big city with massive distrust.

"No. This is a copy. He knows nothing of its existence."

"Why should we trust you, _Minister Hazelwell_?"

Surprisingly it isn't to District Thirteen's president that he turns but to Heavensbee instead.

"Because I would kill Snow with my bare hands if I had even the vaguest hint of a chance. You know what he did, and I don't just mean the Quell. I had to watch him break the woman I love over and over again. I had to be strong and put her back together because for some reason I still can't comprehend, she always ran to me. Before she went into the arena for the second time, she made me promise to bring the bastard down. So I'm here keeping the promise I made to she who was everything to me."

Heavensbee nods almost sadly at Falco before turning back to the holographic map and staring up at it in awe, but Coin scowls and shakes her head.

"Well not one of you has the proper clearance," she says officiously. "You're going to have to go downstairs with the rest of the refugees until you can be processed and assigned somewhere to stay."

Falco says nothing, staring into the distance as though he's mentally not present in the room at all, and when I look at Felix the stylist, I find he's staring at his friend, a mixture of sadness and concern clouding his face. However Narissa scowls back at Coin and laughs. It's obvious from the expression on the grey-haired woman's face that she's not used to being mocked, and she suddenly appears so affronted that it's difficult not to laugh as well.

"Refugees?" says the Capitolian woman incredulously. "We've been fighting for this revolution since long before you decided it might be worth your while to start interfering."

"Interfering? In reality I don't seem to recall you getting very far without us."

"You know nothing," snaps Narissa. "Heavensbee, we're going somewhere a little closer to the surface. I certainly won't be wearing the truly hideous uniform of this place, but when you decide you're going homewards then I'll fly one of your hovercrafts. Into battle if I have to. I won't let you leave Vesper to die."

"He won't," says Falco bitterly. "I think even he's had enough of abandoning innocent people to death."

I know instantly that he means Cashmere and her brother, that it's unlikely she's left his thoughts since the minute she died, but he says nothing more. His eyes meet mine for a split second and then he's gone, storming from the room and leaving a trail of District Thirteen guards gawping after him.

* * *

><p>Even after several weeks have passed and the war seems little closer to being won, I still curl my lip in disgust at the rash of purple ink I see when I look down at my arm. It intermingles with the ever-present scars and almost as consistent bruises, but though it caused me the least amount of pain, it's definitely what I despise the most.<p>

Those who aren't from home and don't understand call District Two militaristic, but as a person who's seen a lot of one and a little of the other, I can say without doubt that this place has the edge. First thing every morning, each person is given a temporary tattoo to tell them where they have to spend every minute of every hour of the day that follows. Right up until half past ten, which seems to be District Thirteen's universal bedtime.

I imagine what Corvinus would say to all this, and I can almost hear his voice in my mind as if he were standing next to me. 'I'll fight for them if I have to but I'll take my wife to bed whenever I like,' he'd say, and the thought of him makes me smile for what feels like the first time in years as I walk down the narrow, dark and windowless corridor. In the opposite direction to the appropriate destination as noted on my arm.

There are only a few rooms in District Thirteen that are above ground, and it is to the largest one of those I head to, longing for a rare glimpse of daylight. A lot of grey uniformed people look curiously at me as we walk past each other and some look disapproving, but they all leave me alone. They don't seem to have time for a stranger who doesn't even have the decency to follow the instructions on her arm like a good prisoner, sorry, citizen.

I'm relieved. I only want to be left alone, and I sink gratefully into a very practical but excruciatingly uncomfortable chair in the thankfully empty room only seconds later.

I don't know how long I sit there for, but I jump instantly to my feet and instinctively reach for the knife at my belt that I no longer have as soon as I hear someone approaching. Before I see who it is, I'm expecting a so-called soldier of District Thirteen who is demanding that I go to wherever I should be, and I prepare to fight back accordingly. Then I see a totally different face looking back at me and I sit down again.

"Are you escaping the regime as well?" he asks, walking slowly to the window and sitting down on another of the chairs.

"How do you know I wasn't born here?" I reply, taking in his dark eyes, honey-coloured skin and the dazzling sapphire at his throat. "Minister Hazelwell."

"Not anymore," he says bitterly, leaving me unsure if the contempt I hear in his voice is for himself or for the people who gave him that title in the first place. "The president and I had a few issues we couldn't agree upon. As for the other, your eyes are too haunted to be those of a daughter of Thirteen. You've seen too much. Lost too much?" he continues, phrasing his last sentence like a question. I nod slightly in response. "And that aside, your arm says you should be at the hospital, but you're here instead. It gives it away more than anything."

"16.00: Ignoring the District Thirteen government," I reply, examining my arm closely. "That's how I read it, don't you?"

He laughs just slightly, as if doing so is alien to him. When I think about what he's been through, it probably is.

"So…District Twelve?" he asks, definitely laughing at the indignant fury that must show on my face. "I thought so," he continues. "District Two then."

I nod in confirmation, remembering Cashmere telling me how smart he is. From that alone I can tell she spoke the truth. If he'd asked me where I was from then I could have lied, but by suggesting he thought I was from the coal district, he ensured my instinctive reaction told him the truth before I could think to lie. There are those in District Two who support the Capitol and there are those like myself who support the revolution, but regardless of side, I'm convinced I could count the number of people who love the Mockingjay on one hand.

"You know my name but I don't know yours. Fellow fugitives should at least know each other's names."

"Astraea," I reply, and I am surprised to see recognition in his eyes that goes beyond what would be there because he saw me in Command on the day he arrived here.

"Rossetti?" he asks, carrying on when I incline my head slightly. "Cashmere spoke of you. She never forgot your husband."

"I know. I'm truly sorry for what happened."

"Why?" he retorts, the fierce man who gave the map to Heavensbee abruptly returning. "You didn't kill her. Snow did that. With a bit of help from Johanna Mason."

"She's on our side. That's what everyone says," I say, thinking of the ruined young woman I once saw in the hospital.

"I don't care," he replies, his hand reaching for the pendant at his throat. "I'll never forget."

"I understand."

"I know you do," he answers softly.

He doesn't speak again and we sit in silence for several minutes, maybe even hours, both of us too lost in grief to make idle conversation. I'm relieved, because that's never been something I'm all that good at anyway.

However eventually Falco takes a deep breath and turns to me again, staring at me with dark eyes that somehow seem able to look inside my soul.

"They sent her back to One with her brother. I didn't even get chance to see her."

"Why not? You were part of the District One support team, weren't you?"

"A warrant for my arrest was issued before she was even taken from the arena. I wanted to stay but Felix convinced me that she wouldn't have wanted that. We left, caused…a diversion so Heavensbee could implement the final stage of his plan and then went into hiding together. Eventually Narissa found us a way out."

"So how did you get the map?" I ask, speaking before I can stop myself.

"I had it anyway," he replies, his expression hardening slightly. "From before Butterfly even went into the arena. I think everyone knew the Quell wouldn't go to plan virtually as soon as it was announced."

"Butterfly?"

He closes his eyes as he briefly turns away, and when he looks back at me it's with a face as expressionless as Ursala's used to be when she returned home from her trips to the Capitol. The only person able to break through the wall my friend and mentor constructed around herself was Velia, in those first few hours at least, and I suspect that in a very different way, Cashmere was Falco's Velia, the one person he would always fight for. And now she's left him. Just like Corvinus left me.

"Cashmere loved you very much. Ursala told me so."

"You didn't know her," he snaps, suddenly leaning forwards in his chair, raising his arms and linking his hands at the base of his skull in such an obvious display of grief and rage that I can't bear to look at him. "How can you know how much I loved her? How can you know how it felt to sit there and watch her die?"

"I didn't ask you to stay here and talk to me," I bristle, responding instinctively to the anger in his words. "And I don't care who you are or who you were, don't you dare tell me I don't know how it feels to watch the person you love die and be able to do nothing about it."

He lets his hands disconnect and looks up at me, and if he doesn't quite manage apologetic then he seems to regret his outburst. It's enough, just about, and I lean back in my chair again as a way of telling him so without having to speak again.

"When your husband died, what happened to him?"

"The Capitol flew him back to Two in an open coffin made of the palest wood I've ever seen," I reply, feeling a lump form in my throat at the painful memory of standing on the sand in the Arena and watching Corvinus burn. "They'd cleaned him up and changed his clothes so I couldn't even see where Vilani stabbed him. He looked like he was just sleeping."

"Have you ever felt so angry that you can't think? Have you ever wanted revenge for something so badly that you can think of nothing else?"

I look at him then, really look at him rather than looking slightly to the side because his grief intimidates me, and I recognise the expression on his face instantly. It was the expression I wore after that fateful day in the arena nine years ago.

"When Dahlia Vilani killed Corvinus, I thought my need for revenge against those who put them both in the Games would suffocate me. But Corvinus always used to tell me that acting on impulse out of anger gets you nowhere and it usually hurts you more than it hurts your enemy. And he would have hated to see me hurt. So I thought of a better plan instead. I pretended to be loyal to those I hate the most for nearly ten years because I knew in the end I'd be in a better position to help bring them down."

"Then maybe you're a better person than me, because all I want to do is go back to the Capitol and put a bullet through Snow's head. Eventually. After he's begged me for mercy and I've signed Cashmere's name on the wall in his blood so he remembers who he's dying for."

"I know you're Capitol but you'd fit right in back home," I reply dryly, despite how I get the impression that he wouldn't have expressed a thought like that aloud before Cashmere's death in the Quell even though I know him so little. "But you've already helped the rebellion by getting that map here. This time we've got a real chance."

"I can't sit here doing nothing, waiting for the Powers-That-Be in Thirteen to label me as mentally disorientated like they do with everyone else they consider too broken to perform what they define as a useful function."

"Then go," I reply, wondering not for the first time why he's saying all this to me. Then I realise that it's probably because he doesn't have anybody else, not with Narissa on her way to the Capitol on some ridiculous rescue mission and Felix doing some kind of work for Heavensbee and the ridiculous propos he's so fond of. "Don't stay here. Nobody's forcing you."

"My own cowardice is forcing me," he says quietly. "Because the only place I'd go is back to One. And I don't want to see her grave because then I'll have to accept that she's gone."

His words make me think of the latest rebel broadcast, which showed a heavily pregnant Satin de Montfort publicly leading the rebel forces into the main square of the district she now controls. It's how they'll attack the Capitol, apparently, if the rumours are true. District One is the closest place to the big city which has adequate infrastructure to support an army and Cashmere and Gloss' sister has welcomed them with open arms. In the name of her siblings not the Mockingjay. But nobody here seems to be in a rush to talk about that.

"Do you want to fight?"

"Yes," he answers, speaking instantly and without hesitation.

"Then go. I didn't know Cashmere well but I do know that she wanted to see Snow's government fall almost as much as she loved you and her brother. Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn but I think it's what she'd want."

* * *

><p>After the end of the war, Falco Hazelwell returned to the Capitol with Satin de Montfort, finally leaving District One behind. By then both Snow and Coin were dead, the Mockingjay had vanished back to what's left of Twelve, and the rest of the rebel leaders who remained were left to pick up the pieces. They say they chose the Capitol as a meeting point because it's facilities and communication networks are still the best despite the destruction caused by the war, but I think I know better and I'm not the only one. It's so ingrained in people's minds that the Capitol is the centre of Panem's power that it's going to take more than a few short weeks before a change is seen.<p>

We have a new president already, and she's an unlikely choice to some because of her humble origins. But Flax Paylor, the former textile factory worker from District Eight, is making the best of a bad situation and she has more supporters than she does critics. The scars she refuses to conceal that she bears as a result of fighting in the war certainly help win the hearts and minds of the district people, and if she frightens some of the Capitolians then I don't think that's a bad thing either. The place I come from is somewhere a person quickly learns the advantages of having a fearsome reputation, and President Paylor is the only person I've ever seen end up the victor after standing up to that Narissa. Not that she got here in time to repeat her performance in that now famous battle of wills today.

In the early hours of this morning, Falco and Narissa arrived at the barracks I've been stationed at and stole one of the hovercrafts, and by the time anyone gave chase they were miles away. When she finally arrived, President Paylor was about to make the decision to go after them, however Vesper's arrival eventually put an end to that. The woman Narissa Redsparrow flew one of the rebel hovercrafts into the Capitol in the middle of the war to rescue had a private conversation with the new president and the pursuit was called off.

It only became clear why when the two Capitolians returned some hours later amidst a flurry of reports that the warehouse which formed the basic structure of the Sixty-sixth Hunger Games had been levelled to the ground.

"She always pretended to be annoyed by what she called overblown symbolic gestures, but I think she'd like to have seen that one," said Falco as he walked past me on his return.

"Maybe she did."

"Maybe," he had replied, smiling sadly. "And she wouldn't want me to leave Panem in a mess."

Something about the way he said that made me think that thought was the only thing that stopped him from leaving Narissa behind and flying that hovercraft straight into the warehouse in the hope that doing so might mean he can join Cashmere wherever she is. But that wasn't what I remember most about our short conversation. What I remember most, what I will remember forever, is what he said when he saw the understanding in my eyes.

"I can't do that," he said. "She dreamed of freedom all her life. Now we have it. She'd hate me if I threw it away now."

* * *

><p><em>That's really it then. It's over. Thank you to everyone who has 'talked' to me throughout the writing of 'Freedom' - your support means a lot ;) <em>

_I'd also like to thank be-nice-to-nerds, who has read every single chapter first. I've appreciated your help more than I can say, but there was no need to pay me back by giving me an idea for yet another story when I swore I'd stop writing... That really wasn't fair of you :P_


End file.
